Frozen: Sacrifice and Forgiveness
by Kira Ani McGrath
Summary: Hans draws new strength from a foreign family more than willing to dote on his every need. There's only one problem: they have no inkling as to the ex-prince's true identity. Hans schemes to perpetuate the illusion as long as possible, but just how far will the fallen royal go to carry out his plan? (Starts after "Frozen Fever" events.)
1. The Hole

"The Hole." The worst part of the city. It held the refuse house (where trash was stored before being shipped off the island) and the fertilizer station (where animal manure was kept until needed by farmers or disposed of as waste).

A full cart transported to the latter had brought him here. With the drop made, he was eager to leave. Terrible as it was, the stench was not the cause. No, it was the area's residents that hastened his steps. Some were criminals, some were poor, but all were desperate — or worse, bored. He was always in and out before the first hint of twilight. At least, before tonight.

A giant snowball mysteriously — or _magically_ — crashing into him would be lauded as divine retribution by anyone who knew his past. Perhaps it was a small mercy, then, that the only witnesses were horses. Still, whether the incident was accidental or intentional made little difference. What mattered was that it had taken precious time to free himself. Dusk was upon him as he strode with purpose.

A memory from his youth flashed through his mind. He briefly contemplated the benefits of being truly invisible before dismissing the useless infantile fantasy.

He sensed the presence of his shadows before he glimpsed them. Three unsavory faces trailing behind with half-hearted stealth. The attempted subtlety would be laughable under different circumstances. Presently, however, it only underlined their confidence in hunting their prey. The edge of their territory was still far off, and there wasn't another soul in sight. Even if there were any bystanders, they wouldn't help. Not here, and certainly not _him_.

Fighting the trio was too risky. Not only would he be outnumbered, his strength giving out was a real possibility. Running after rounding the next corner was the best plan. He made the turn, only to be snagged by waiting hands and a pair of dark grins.

 _Damn._ He should have anticipated it. Exhaustion was no excuse for being caught unawares. He was surrounded.

"You're out a mite late. Don't you have a curfew?" a sixth man inquired as he approached the circle.

The prisoner sized up his captors as the man spoke. Any move would have to be swift and fierce to catch them off-guard.

A blow to his back knocked the wind out of him.

"The Boss asked you a question!"

"Now now," the leader chided, "that's no way to treat _royalty_! Don't you agree, **_Prince_** _Hans_?"

He had held a sliver of hope that they wouldn't know who he was. He'd obviously hoped in vain, as per usual. The thugs might have gone easy on someone who could be missed, but they knew they had a free pass with the ex-prince. No one would care if _he_ was beaten to death.

"We ought to give a _prince_ of his _caliber_ the _respect_ he _deserves_ ," the boss continued, squaring himself with Hans. The subsequent punch would have sent the redhead reeling had he not been held with such iron grasps.

"That means being face-to-face when you clock him," the leader concluded with a chuckle. Standing back to admire his handiwork, a sadistic satisfaction lit up his face. "We're going to have fun tonight!" he declared as he turned his back on the group.

 _Now._ A quick leg sweep and over-the-shoulder throw freed him, and he took off. The trio of grunts left standing weren't far behind as their boss shouted, "Get 'im, boys!"

 _Left. Left. Right. Le—_ A dead end. He doubled back the instant he realized his blunder, but it was too late. The gang was blocking the exit. He was as good as dead.

One of the brutes stepped forward with an obvious, sloppy punch. Hans blocked, but the force still sent him flying backward into a heap of muddy garbage.

"This is where a piece of trash like you belongs!" the leader crowed.

"Excuse me, gentleman—"

The six shot glares at the source of the interruption.

"—I seem to have gotten my directions mixed up. Could you point me toward the harbor?"

"Get lost," the boss growled, "or you'll get what he got."

"Get what who got?" came the far-too-upbeat reply. "I can't see _through_ you."

Movement from one of the members created a chink in the armor, and the stranger casually slipped through the blockade.

"Hm, oh, yes, I see now!" His tidy clothes were those of a commoner. His dark, curly hair and tan skin gave him away as a foreigner. Any fool could sense the danger, yet he examined the scene as one would examine an antique curiosity.

"Yeah, so like I said, 'get lost!'" the leader repeated.

"Well, I can't do that!" the youth gasped with pointed indigence. "There's a man here who needs assistance!"

"I warned you!" the boss spit as he advanced on the stranger. "Now—" He grabbed the foreigner's shirt. "—you're gonna pay." His fist recoiled, set to spring forward in an instant.

Hans thought he saw fear flash across the leader's face. _Did I imagine it?_ He couldn't be sure, but _something_ must have happened, since the guaranteed hit was never thrown. Instead, the leader shoved the foreigner away.

"You're not even worth it," he grumbled as he backed into his gang. "C'mon, boys, drinks are on me."

The murmurs of approval and appreciation faded with the squelch of mud under boots. Hans let his bewildered stare linger until the young man spun to face him.

"The Lord must be looking out for us tonight!" The bright smile and cheery tone were as foreign to the former royal as the stranger was to the Southern Isles. Despite that, his attitude didn't seem forced; rather, it was almost... _child-like_.

"What did you say to him?" Hans queried flatly.

"Huh? Nothing!"

"Then why did he abandon the fight?" The gang's victory was assured. It made no sense.

The foreigner shrugged. "Maybe he realized that being a bully is wrong."

Hans scoffed. "I doubt that."

The youth shrugged again as he closed the gap between them and offered his hand. "Let's get out of here. I'll help you home."

If he knew that "home" for the ex-prince was a cell in the castle dungeon, he wouldn't be so eager to offer aid. Of course, Hans wasn't exactly eager to return home, either. He closed his eyes and let himself sink back into the pile. Even _if_ he had the will to move, he lacked the physical strength to do so. His escape attempt had drained the little energy he'd had left. _Why bother?_ His mere existence had become a grueling grind of misery. Any hope of improvement for his situation was so slim and distant that it was inconsequential. His life mattered to no one. In fact, there were quite a few individuals who would be thrilled to hear of his demise. He was an irredeemable criminal. _There's no point in carrying on._

"Are you hurt?!"

He cracked open his eyes and gave the forgotten stranger a sideways glance. The man's expression puzzled him, and it took him a moment to place what it was. _Genuine concern._ He couldn't remember the last time such a look had been directed at _him_. The small comfort was fleeting. The foreigner didn't know who _he_ was. Any care for his well-being would evaporate when the truth was discovered, and he'd return to his current position. Hans attempted to dissipate the helpful intentions of the stranger with a menacing glare. _Don't bother. Leave me to die._

The concern morphed to understanding realization, then determination in the blink of an eye. "I'll carry you to my family's home. We'll get you cleaned up, and you can stay with us!"

Hans' confoundment instantly gave way to disgust. His true intention must have been obvious if this naïve simpleton saw through him.

He bristled as a hand clapped his shoulder.

 ** _"_** ** _ _ **Leave me alone!**__** _ **"**_ he barked, wrenching himself away. "I'm not some stray dog for you to groom into the family pet!"

The young man was taken aback, and he pursed his lips in thought. Without warning, he threw himself into the trash heap, rolling around in the muck. The former prince sat up out of sheer amazement. After a minute, the foreigner stopped to examine the results. Satisfied, he presented himself to Hans.

"There!"

Hans was completely dumbfounded.

"Oh!" The stranger snapped his fingers as he suddenly remembered something. "I'm Leone!" He grinned as he extended his hand for a shake. "Pleased to meet you!"

Thoroughly, absolutely dumbfounded.

Seeing an opportunity, Leone put Hans' right arm over his shoulders and pulled the dazed man to his feet. This time, there was no resistance. Supporting the other's weight, Leone started to walk. Hans' reflexes reacted and his legs began to drag him along.

"Phew! You had me worried for a minute there!"

Hans turned his head toward the bizarrely happy face but said nothing. Leone's smile widened.

"Let's go!"

* * *

The tavern was overcrowded. It was the only one that served the dregs of society, so there was a lack of both seats and manners. Any shortage of currency, though, and the bouncers would happily free up some space.

Of course, if one had the right reputation, none of these were a concern. The six had secured a prime table and were sipping — or guzzling — their third round. Except for the boss, who had barely touched his first.

His right-hand man could no longer contain his curiosity.

"Why did you let them go?" he asked in a hushed tone.

The leader glanced at his comrade, then back to his drink.

"Have you ever looked into a man's eyes and just known that... that he's _seen_ things? _Done_ things?"

The second-in-command shook his head, eyeing his boss who continued to gaze into his mug.

"A man who isn't afraid to die, but won't go down until he's beaten his opponent," the leader explained, still fixated on the murky liquid.

"You're saying that perky fellow gave you the willies?"

The boss turned his eyes up. "Sometimes you have to trust your gut, and I wasn't going to put my life on the line to prove it wrong."


	2. La Stella Luminosa

_La Stella Luminosa._

Not the most eloquent name for a ship, but he'd seen worse. The Italian words revealed where the foreigner was from, and the vessel was how he'd arrived.

Of course, Leone had already answered these and many more unasked questions. He hadn't paused for a breath the entire journey. Hans hadn't heard much, being lost in his own contemplations of why this stranger had come to his aid and the consequences of being discovered. Luckily, they hadn't seen another body since beginning their slow trek.

Leone finally released Hans' arm as they reached the base of the gangplank.

"It's too narrow for me to stay alongside you, but I'll be right behind you in case you fall!"

Hans considered the possibility that this was all a set-up, that he would be ambushed upon his ascension to the deck. Granted, it was a bit illogical, but so was everything else that had happened today.

He must have telegraphed his thoughts — _again_ — since the other man gave his shoulder a reassuring pat.

"There's no need to worry, I promise."

A horrified gasp emanated from above them. Their attention snapped upward to see a middle-aged woman fly down the gangplank.

"Leone! Where have you been?! Who is this?! What happened?!"

The flurry of questions stunned the redhead, but the brunette had expected such a greeting.

"Well, you see, there was this stray dog—"

"Never mind, I don't want to hear it," the woman groaned, suddenly dissuaded by the beginning of the tale. "The least you could do is avoid dragging innocent folks into your messes—" she scrutinized the filthy pair, "—literally."

Leone chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry, Mamma."

The woman sighed. "Well, I suppose there's worse things than dirt." She studied the two again and shook her head. "At least the Lord gives me the ability to deal with these situations. He put it in my head that _something_ was going to need washing tonight. Natalia's just finishing setting up a hot bath, and I was about to start some laundry. Go on up, now." She stepped aside while motioning toward Hans. "Guests first, naturally. Oh, but don't be slow drying off, or you'll catch a cold in the cool night air."

If it were all a ruse, it was an exceedingly complicated one performed by superb actors. Still, he couldn't help but brace himself as he stepped onto the ship.

Illuminated by both moon and lantern, he was greeted by an innocuous scene. Sheets were strung up between the twin masts and a freestanding pole to create a private area. One linen was pushed aside as a young woman emptied a pot into a large wash tub.

Hans' steps alerted her to his approach. She glanced up anticipatorily, but was shocked at the sight.

"Would you like me to fetch a cool compress?" Her voice was soft, with a note of worry.

He instinctively lifted a set of fingertips to the swollen cheek. It was sore under his light touch. His dingy glove picked up some new mud stains after the examination, and Hans was mildly impressed that the woman noticed the injury underneath the coating.

"I apologize for any and all trouble my brother's caused you. He means well, really. I hope you can forgive him."

Hans could do nothing but stare. It was odd for another party to be shouldering the responsibility for his current state. Ever since childhood, his brothers had blamed him for anything and everything they could, regardless of his actual guilt. At least the past year's hardships were a direct result of his own failure, instead of unjust condemnation. His view of the world had been confirmed as well: people were only pleasant if they believed you were useful in their own pursuits. His sentence had been an invitation for the public to show their true nature. Everyone whose path he crossed reveled in grinding him beneath their heel. _Everyone except this family._ He was giving himself a headache trying to make sense of it.

Natalia clutched the pot and shifted her weight, the visitor's silence making her uneasy. "Everything you need is in here," she squeaked as she removed herself from the makeshift doorway. "I'll get the compress and some fresh clothes and slide them under the curtain." She scuttled away without waiting for an answer.

Hans entered the bathing area, removing a glove before pulling the covering closed. After ensuring there wasn't a gap to be found, he took in his surroundings. There was barely enough room to maneuver, as the wooden tub took up most of the space. A chair held folded towels, a bar of soap in a dish, and washcloths within arm's reach of the tub.

He tested the water with his naked hand. _Perfect._ The baths he'd been granted since his fateful trip had been lukewarm at best. Glancing around once again, his eyes returned to the basin. _I might as well make the most of this._ He quickly disrobed and eased himself into the tub.

Releasing an extended exhalation, he let himself relax. Pain he'd long ignored melted away as he fixed his gaze on the sky.

Something scraped the deck. His head swiveled to find a cloth and water-filled bowl atop a tray. Slim hands darted between the linens to place a neat pile of clothes on the chair. A pair of short boots appeared next to the chair legs.

"I could've just brought it all in, you know." Leone's voice was clear despite the blockade. "What if he can't reach the tray?"

Hans took hold of a corner and loudly dragged the wood to the tub.

 **"** **Well as long as you're listening,** **"** Leone bellowed, **"** **I'm taking your dirty stuff so Mamma can wash it.** **"**

"That's not necessary," Hans assured him. Whatever presumptions the family had made about their "guest" were sure to be questioned if a seasoned caretaker thoroughly inspected his attire.

"See? I told you he could talk!"

"Leone!" Natalia hissed, embarrassed.

"What? I thought he was mute too, at first."

Natalia's grumble suggested she was used to her brother's lack of tact. Hans found himself smirking, until a hand snatched his soiled garments to the outside of the enclosure.

"Hey!" was the best protest he could muster.

"Hay is for horses!" A childish laugh echoed across the ship.

"Don't worry," Natalia reassured through the curtain, "we'll do our best to get all the mud out."

 _Not all of it is mud._ Hans grimaced.

"You needn't trouble yourselves. I'll have them laundered when I return home."

"It's no trouble at all. Besides, we already have to wash Leone's clothes."

The grimy boots disappeared under the sheet.

"Mamma gave me shoe-shining duty!" Leone announced before scampering off again. The opaque barrier didn't stop Hans from pointing a mystified face in Leone's general direction.

"You can take as long as you like," Natalia offered. "We'll be out here when you're done." Her footsteps withdrew from the homemade bath house.

Hans grabbed the soap dish. The less time spent in such a vulnerable position, the better.

* * *

Hans emerged from the curtained area to find buckets of water lined up outside. _They must be changing the bath for Leone._ Hans suspected the foreign young man was the usual wearer of his borrowed outfit, which he was adjusting for the fourth time. It was rather loose on him, the shirt in particular. It was definitely meant for Leone's straight torso, not his own tapered one.

"Looks good!" Leone called from his spot on a stool near the rail. His mother and sister raised their heads from wringing laundry.

"Couldn't you have found something that fits him better?" the elder woman inquired with a click of her tongue.

"I picked out the most comfortable stuff I own!" Leone protested.

The declaration gave Hans pause in his battle with a sleeve cuff. He would have expected to receive clothes that were worn out or ill-fitting, useless to their owner. Yet this man had once again defied logic, selecting the favored pieces of his wardrobe for use by a complete stranger.

"I'm going to take a bath now."

Hans lifted his eyes at the squeaky slide of the stool to see Leone trotting to him.

"I finished cleaning your boots, but you should let the polish dry before you wear them."

His mind still befuddled, Hans could only nod. Leone purposely caught the other man's eye.

"You can keep everything you're wearing," Leone murmured. Upon seeing Hans' mouth fall agape, he added, "I mean it." The brunette clapped the redhead's shoulder twice before continuing on his way.

Hans stared at his sleeve cuff, his opposite hand still frozen mid-button. The whole situation was surreal. _Is it possible I died in that alley and this is the afterlife?_ But that couldn't be, as this surely wasn't the eternity he deserved. _Unless the goal is to make me feel safe, then pull the rug out from beneath my feet._

"Pardon me."

The quiet voice broke his trance. His head jerked up to reveal Natalia standing a few paces off.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "I was trying not to startle you. Are you alright?"

"I'm just tired," was the dismissive reply. He wanted to keep her from prying further, but the answer wasn't entirely false. He _was_ tired, to put it mildly.

"Ah, right, it's too late for you to walk home. I'll go prepare your sleeping quarters," Natalia responded. She took a step toward the stairs that went below deck, then turned back. "Oh, uh, but my mother isn't going to let you go to bed without eating first."

"Excuse me?"

"She's Italian," Natalia stated as though that were the only clarification needed.

As if on cue, her mother appeared in the left-hand cabin's doorway.

"Have you eaten supper?" The question was clearly directed at Hans.

"Yes," he lied.

"Well I'm sure my son's antics rendered it pointless. Come, I have a little something fixed for you."

A tiny giggle escaped Natalia's lips. She gave Hans a timid wave before resuming her mission.

Hans crossed the threshold and was surprised by the unorthodox cabin. It was a kitchen, dining area, and master bedroom all in one.

"Here." The woman pulled out the chair with a meal set before it. The young man obediently sat down. "It's rabbit stew," she explained as he hesitantly stirred the bowl's contents.

Peasant game made into a peasant meal. Compared to the scraps he was given, though, this was a king's delicacy. The former prince resisted the urge to wolf it down after the first spoonful.

"It's delicious," he complimented. He ripped a bite-sized chunk from the thick slices beside him and popped it in his mouth. "The bread is soft and tasty." Another gulp of the main dish followed. "You made these?"

"Yes, with my own secret recipes!" Her pride in that fact was evident.

Hans flashed a smile and returned to his methodical eating.

"Mercy!"

The woman's dramatic exclamation startled him.

"I never introduced myself! My name is Mirella." She smiled expectantly.

"Lars," Hans replied with a nod. While washing, he'd decided it was best to give a fake name if asked. This family may not be Southern Isles natives, but who knew what gossip they'd heard in their time here.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lars." Mirella's smile widened, then dropped to a frown. "Although I _am_ sorry it was under such disconcerting circumstances. I do apologize for Leone. He has good intentions, but tends to act without thinking."

 _"_ _Leone!_ Why are you strolling about in nothing but a towel?!" Natalia's frantic whisper carried through the open doorway.

"I forgot my change of clothes," the unabashed male stated matter-of-factly. The other cabin's door thumped shut.

Hans cast a sideways glance at Mirella. The disgruntled mother rubbed her temples.

"You just finish your food and leave the dishes where they are. I have some more laundry to tend to." With that, she whisked out of the room.

* * *

When Hans exited the cabin, Mirella and Natalia were hanging laundry while Leone swabbed the deck. The ex-royal concluded he ought to offer help so as to not appear impolite. However, steps on the gangplank halted his speech.

"Pappa!" Leone cried, dropping the mop. His attempt to run across the wet wood would have landed him on his backside if weren't for the women each grabbing an arm.

The man chuckled at his son's exuberance. "It's good to be home after a long day. I'm looking forward to—" He spied Hans. "Why, hello! I'm sorry, I didn't realize we had the pleasure of entertaining company." He bowed slightly as he introduced himself. "I'm Vincenzo."

"Lars."

"I take it you're a friend of my son?"

"Acquainted via Leone's _usual_ method of befriending strangers," Mirella lamented as she placed the last clothespin.

Vincenzo let slip a bemused grunt, which he covered with a cough when his wife shot him a scowl. "Is that so? Well, everyone appears to be in one piece, and that's what's important." He winked at his son, who grinned in return.

"I believe it's time we all retire for the night," declared Mirella as she gave the deck one last inspection. "You two get our guest settled." She gesticulated as she spoke, waving her children toward the hatchway. Leone bolted to the descending staircase with Natalia shuffling behind.

"Come on, Lars!" the curly-haired young man beckoned wildly.

"Lars" was about to comply, until he recalled his earlier thought. He turned to the couple. "Thank you—"

"There's no need to thank us," Mirella interrupted. "Now, off to bed with you. It's late, and you need your rest."

Hans' perplexed expression sparked Vincenzo's amusement.

"My wife has a tendency to mother everyone," he chortled. "Even myself, on occasion."

"That's because you'd work nonstop if I didn't make you sleep," Mirella retorted.

"And I appreciate you looking out for my health." Vincenzo planted a kiss on his wife's cheek before turning back to Hans. "You should do as she says. My dearest is always right about these kinds of things." Mirella nodded in approving agreement. "Spend enough time here, and she'll adopt you," Vincenzo added with a wink.

 _That would be nice._

The spontaneous thought astonished him. He mechanically followed the siblings below deck as numbness overtook his being.

 _What sort of lunacy was_ **that** _? Wishing to be coddled by an overbearing surrogate mother. I must be exceedingly enervated._

A double bunk was nestled against the back corner. Night clothes were atop a chest at the foot of the bed. A lit lantern hung on the wall. Leone was pointing all this out as though Hans was blind.

"... and here's a lantern so you can see down here, and some stuff to sleep in — you can just wear what you have on now tomorrow — and if you want a third pillow or an extra blanket you can just take them off the top bunk, unless you want to sleep in the top bunk, in which case we should move everything—"

"You don't need change a thing. I'm quite satisfied with the accommodations."

"Are you sure? If there's something else we can do—"

"You've done plenty."

"Will you be okay down here by yourself?"

Hans bit his tongue to keep from spouting off an incriminating quip regarding his normal resting place. Natalia read it as aggravation and smacked Leone's arm.

"Alright, alright," Leone conceded. "Just yell if you need anything." With that, he bounded up the stairs.

Hans shook his head. _I don't understand that fellow._ His attention refocused on the figure stopped mid-flight. Natalia peered through the gaps in the steps, apparently waiting for some form of acknowledgment.

"There are locks on every side except the hinged one," she pointed out. Hans strode to the front of the staircase for a better view. "We don't lock the hatch from above when someone's down here, but feel free to lock yourself in."

Hans couldn't help his bemused smirk at her choice of words. This only unnerved the apprehensive girl.

"I mean, you don't _have_ to lock it, but you _can_ if it will make you feel safer. We wouldn't be offended at all; it's completely understandable since we're basically strangers." Her blush increased throughout the fumbling addendum until she was entirely red-faced by the end.

The ex-prince allowed himself a chuckle. "We haven't been formally introduced, have we? My name is Lars." He bowed deeply, making a show of it. He raised his head at her shy giggle.

"Natalia." She curtsied expertly.

He straightened with a charming smile upon his face. "Now we're acquaintances instead of strangers. And I do believe I will take up your offer of locking myself in for the night. I expect your brother is the sort of person who would come bumbling down here during the wee hours of the morning, disturbing my slumber to rave about having just awoken from a fantastic dream."

Natalia tittered at the scenario. " _If_ he woke up. He sleeps like a rock. Mamma has to rouse him practically every morning!"

Hans joined in her momentary mirth. The woman flushed and coughed as she regained her composure.

"I'm sorry, I should let you sleep."

"There's no need to apologize," Hans heartened her. "I actually _do_ enjoy conversation — when I don't feel I'm being plowed over, that is."

"Leone's simply... _excitable_. He doesn't mean to be discourteous. He just wants to be friends with everyone."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Natalia nodded in appreciation. "I'll take my leave now."

"Pleasant dreams, Miss Natalia."

Her cheeks became crimson as she smiled. "You as well."

She ascended to the deck. He followed, pulling the hatch door over his head as she trotted to the smaller cabin.

Hans' smile faded with her footsteps. His skills were not as dull as he'd feared. He'd obviously left a sweet impression on the lady. It wouldn't do well to have her constantly nervous around him, thereby giving her family a reason to cease their charity.

Indubitably, they'd give him the boot the moment his true identity was revealed. In the meantime, he'd be a fool to squander the opportunity his last shred of stubborn pride had nearly cost him.

Satisfied the locks were secure, he swiftly changed into the provided night clothes. The soft mattress and fluffy pillows were a far cry from the sparsely-stuffed imitations that adorned his usual bed. No one would check — or care — that his cell was empty tonight. There would only be trouble if he skipped out on his duties tomorrow.

Truly comfortable for the first time in nearly a year, he was soon sound asleep.

* * *

Vincenzo munched on an apple as Mirella finished tidying up the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, dear," she sighed for the third time. "I know how much you were looking forward to that stew."

"Darling, please, stop apologizing. You know I would have given him the food myself had I been here." He tossed the core in the garbage pail.

"I know, I know. It's just that I didn't make as much as I normally do since we've been stretched so thin lately..."

"Ah, yes, that reminds me." Vincenzo dug into a pocket and produced a coin purse. "Brogan paid me today."

Mirella clapped her hands together. "Wonderful! I can make a big breakfast tomorrow, enough for all five of us! Lord knows that poor boy could use another good meal."

Vincenzo took a moment to bask in his wife's radiant glow. As much as she loved cooking, she loved feeding people even more.

"Speaking of Lars," he said as he retrieved a set of night clothes, "how did he and Leone meet, exactly?"

"I don't know." Mirella glanced in the dresser mirror as she readied herself for bed. "I stopped Leone before he could launch into one of his _stories_. I'd assumed he'd gotten preoccupied with something silly and inconvenienced some unfortunate young gentleman. But after washing their clothes, I'm not so sure."

"Why?"

"Both were filthy, but the dirt on Leone's was fresh. Lars' clothes had layers of set-in stains. Plus, they were fancy but well-worn. In fact, the palms of his gloves were threadbare!"

"A penniless nobleman, perhaps?" Vincenzo mused as he doused the light.

"That's what I was thinking." Mirella joined her husband under the blanket.

"Such a man likely wouldn't admit his need, either. I can see why Leone would be eager to assist."

"So it's agreed: we're going to help him in every way possible."

Vincenzo smiled at his decisive wife. "Of course."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** _La Stella Luminosa_ is Italian for "The Bright Star"


	3. The Stable

A pleasant aroma stirred his senses. The ex-royal blinked in confusion at his unfamiliar surroundings, until the events of the previous night flooded his memory.

 _So it_ _ **was**_ _real after all._

Part of him had expected to wake in the alley, the kind strangers nothing but a hallucination crafted by a mind on the brink of death. It was a relief to find himself in a much healthier state.

 _Something actually went right for once in my life... Disaster must be around the corner._

Realizing he had no clue as to the time of day, he leapt out of bed. Leaving the night clothes in a tidy pile after his hurried change, he climbed the stairs and popped the hatch. A startled gasp escaped his lips as the heavy door was yanked from his palms.

"Lars, you're awake! How'd you sleep? Are you hungry?" Leone beamed down at him.

"Good morning, fine, and no." Hans didn't bother hiding his irritation at the unexpected greeting. In actuality, he couldn't remember when he'd last slept so well, and his stomach certainly desired whatever Mirella had cooked.

"Well I'm sure you'll be hungry after you see what's for breakfast!" Leone let the door fall to the deck as he practically skipped to the main cabin.

The jubilation of the foreign young man was aberrant to Hans, who expelled a forceful puff of air in annoyance. _How can anyone be so damn chipper?_

Poking his head above the opening, he guessed it to be around eight in the morning from the sun's position. He was usually up before five. Being an early riser was the result of years of conditioning by maids — under the king's orders — that princes shouldn't be lazy and "a head-start to the day puts you ahead in life."

 _Such an inane axiom._

He crossed the deck with another glance to the sky. He was tardy for his "duties" — the manual labor that was part of his punishment. There was no spot for food in his schedule. _Just stop in, say 'Thank you,' and leave._

"Good morning!" the family chorused upon his entrance.

 _Strange._

"Good morning," was all he got out before an elated Mirella flitted to his side.

"Excellent timing! We were just about to start breakfast. Have a seat!" She tugged his sleeve while motioning to an empty chair. The table was arrayed with fruit, hard-boiled eggs, ham, sausage, diced potatoes, porridge, and toasted bread. The smell was making him salivate.

"Thank you for the generous offer, but I must be off to work now." He took a step backward.

"You can't work on an empty stomach!" The mother's incredulous squeal made Hans wince. He could only imagine the resulting hysterics if he told her he'd gone without breakfast every morning for the past eleven months. "Eat, eat!" she ordered.

 _I'm already late. If I'm to be locked up for that, I might as well be satiated._ He let her guide him to sit in front of a full plate.

"Scho haut hoo ewe hoo?" Leone spoke with his teeth sunk into a thick slice of toast. He released the now-soggy bread after noticing his mother's disapproving glare. "I mean, 'so what do you do?'"

Hans had already mulled over dozens of scenarios in order to prepare himself to perpetuate the persona he'd previously presented. The best plan was to be as truthful as possible without giving away his identity. "I'm a stable hand," he answered before crunching his own piece of toast.

The ex-royal stole a glance at Mirella, expecting her to comment on this revelation. The garments she'd laundered yesterday weren't typical of someone with such a lowly career. Mirella, however, was preoccupied with cutting Leone's ham into little pieces after catching him attempting to shove the whole slice in his mouth.

Leone tore his eyes away from the pork, his appetite for conversation greater than his one for food. "Sounds fun! Do you like it?"

Hans paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. No one had ever asked him that before. Throughout all his various pursuits to equip himself to be the best king possible, not once had anyone ever cared if he _enjoyed_ what he was doing.

He felt Leone's expectant stare boring into him. "I like horses better than people," he replied before completing his fork's journey. _That's always been true._

"Enough talk, Leone," Mirella scolded. "Let him eat."

Leone pouted as he stabbed his potatoes. "You wouldn't tell Natalia not to talk to him," he whined.

"That's because Natalia hardly speaks!" their mother shot back, her knife punctuating her point.

Hans' attention diverted to the young woman. She was concentrating on her plate, but, judging by her fuchsia ears, hadn't missed a word. Hans smirked behind his toast. Natalia noticed his gaze and attempted a polite smile, only for it to turn into a yawn that she hid with her handkerchief. Hans refocused on his food, but observed her peripherally. She stifled another yawn before massaging her bagged eyes. _She must not sleep as soundly as her brother._

Hans cleaned his plate twice in record time. Dabbing his mouth once more with the thin cloth napkin, he rose from his seat. "I'm sorry to eat and run, but I do need to leave. I don't have adequate words to thank you for your gracious hospitality."

"Think nothing of it," Mirella declared with a wave of her hand. "Come visit again soon!"

"You're welcome here any time, Lars," Vincenzo affirmed.

Hans hesitated in the doorway, looking back over his shoulder at the four. Their happy, smiling faces were waiting for him to concur. It was hard to believe such people actually existed.

 _It's only because they don't know who I am._

"I need my clothes," Hans stated as though that was the reason he'd lingered.

"They're not fully dry." Natalia's lamenting tone made it sound as if she was personally at fault.

"Why don't you leave them here for today?" Mirella suggested. "You can retrieve them tonight, after you join us for supper."

"I couldn't—"

"You could and you can and you will, right?" Leone bounced up and over to Hans until the brunette was two inches from the redhead when uttering the last word.

Hans' eyes roved over the hopeful faces anticipating his response. _If they're going to keep offering..._

"Well, if you insist," he agreed with a modest smile.

"Of course we insist!" the sprightly matriarch proclaimed. "Now, run along before you're late!"

Hans gave an appreciative nod before heading out.

* * *

Two hearty meals in a row had put some spring in his step, despite his unpleasant destination. Even if he wasn't arrested, the work wasn't something to look forward to. He'd grown used to it as the months passed, but that didn't mean he reveled in the tasks.

The former prince was the target of a few sneers, but far less than he usually received. Everyone else ignored him as they would any other passer-by. Hans wondered if his alternate wardrobe was the source of this variation. It seemed he was essentially unrecognizable without his "trademark" attire.

"You walk too fast!"

Unless someone was already accustomed to his current apparel. He looked back to the familiar voice.

"What are you doing, Leone?"

"I'm coming with you!"

Hans stopped dead in his tracks. "You're _what_?!"

"Coming with you! To work! Normally I help Pappa, but he said he has the day off since he was so late getting home last night. So I decided to help you instead!" The foreigner's whimsical excitement was peculiar, to say the least.

 _He makes it sound like he's heading to a party, not giving up a free day to muck horse stalls._ "Have you ever even _done_ any stable hand duties before?" Hans' skepticism was palpable.

Leone's bright smile didn't fade. "No, but you clean the horses, their gear, and their stalls, right? It can't be that hard to learn!"

Hans rubbed the back of his neck as his mind churned. While he mainly worked at the palace stables, his brothers had hit upon the _genius_ idea of renting him out at half the price of a free man. Today was one of his "hired" days, as he'd been told earlier in the week. _Another stroke of good fortune._ A private stable would raise far fewer questions than a trip to the palace for this uninformed apprentice. However, all Hans' "boss" had to do was mention his name or reference anything about him, and "Lars" would be no more.

"I don't need help, and even if I did, you can't just waltz onto someone's property and tell them you're there to work." He resumed his journey.

"We'll just see about that," Leone countered with an impish grin as he trotted to catch up.

" _Go home_ ," Hans commanded.

"You can't make me!" Leone stuck out his tongue.

A low growl emanated from the ex-royal's throat. _Slugging the impudent punk might do the trick. Then again, so would telling him the truth. No sense in brawling over it, just let him tag along. When he finally figures it out, he'll abandon me and report back to his family. Then they'll burn my outfit, along with anything I touched. On the bright side, I won't have to continue this charade. At least I got some food and clothes out of them._

"Don't get so lost in thought you can't find your way back," Leone twittered.

Hans raised an eyebrow at his obstinate companion. "Was that your attempt at cleverness?"

"It sounded good in my head," Leone defended.

"Hmph."

Hans returned his attention to their surroundings. They had passed from the crowded inner city to the more spacious outer ring. Arriving at the correct address, Hans noted the relatively small estate. It likely employed only one butler, one maid, and one groundskeeper, the last of which must have been given the day off.

An elderly butler met them at the gate. "You're late," he stated as he ushered them through.

"Completely my fault there, good sir. I just couldn't start the day without breakfast!" Leone chortled.

The butler was not amused. "And you are?"

"Name's Leone! I'm helping out my buddy here for the day." He clapped Hans' shoulder and gave it a jostle.

The old man frowned. "Will it cost extra?"

"Nope, there's no charge!" Leone assured him. "I'm 'in training' anyway."

"Very well," the butler conceded. "Don't go near the main house and be done by afternoon tea."

"You got it!" Leone chirped with a quick salute.

The two were left alone at the stable.

Leone turned to Hans. "So when's afternoon tea?"

Hans shook his head and entered the barn. Locating the tool rack, he reached for a rake, but drew his hand back upon touching the wood.

"Something wrong?" Leone questioned.

"My gloves..." They had been washed and dried with everything else the previous night. In the craziness of the morning, he'd forgotten them.

"Oh, right!" Leone fished into his left-hand pants pocket. It was only then that Hans became aware of the metal container in his grip.

"What's in the box?"

"Lunch!" Leone declared with a smile as his free hand extracted a wad of material from the cavity. He held it out to Hans. "Here." It was a pair of brown leather work gloves.

Hans blinked in surprise as he removed the gloves from Leone's open palm. "I'm astonished you remembered to bring gloves with you."

"Oh, I didn't," Leone laughed as he grabbed the shirked tool. "I don't wear gloves. Natalia asked me to give them to you."

Hans slid one on. It was a perfect fit — snug, but not too tight. He pulled the other glove on as if it would be different, but it was a match. _Odd, I thought Leone and Vincenzo had larger hands..._ A quick examination led to a startling realization.

"These are brand new."

Leone was twirling the rake. "Are they?" He caught the handle and gave the pair a once-over. "Hm, yeah, looks that way."

Hans flexed his fingers as he inspected the craftsmanship. The almost imperceptible stitches were in evenly spaced rows. The inner lining felt like silk. The cuffs were straight and looked the same from every angle. Someone had put careful effort into their handiwork. _Wait..._

"Leone, did Natalia stay up all night _sewing_ these?!"

Leone had already moved halfway across the stable. "I don't know. There's a curtain dividing our room, and I fell asleep right after she came in. Seems like something she would do, though." He turned the rake on the hay of an empty stall.

Hans flipped his covered hands back and forth as he stared at them, trying to wrap his mind around it. _She must have been so enamored after our little exchange that she made me a gift._

"So are you going to show me the ropes, or am I going to have to figure it all out on my own?" Leone acted stern, but the upward tug on the corners of his mouth gave him away.

"Turn you loose with no instruction? Now _there's_ a terrifying thought," Hans muttered.

* * *

Contrary to Hans' expectation, Leone _was_ teachable — as long as he wasn't engrossed in anything else. Hans rapidly realized the formula for success was to ask Leone to repeat and demonstrate whatever the ex-prince had just described. On top of that, Leone _did_ appear to be actively curbing his short attention span to focus on his work. Of course, that didn't stop his chatter.

It was a Westergaard trait to not waste words, at least amongst themselves. When it came to outsiders, Hans had learned early to say only what was necessary to earn favor. What that meant depended both on the person and the situation. It could be anything from keeping the interaction as brief as possible to making small talk for hours. Personally, he hated pointless jabber. Of course, he would never say such a thing to someone who quite clearly enjoyed being long-winded about nothing. His old self would have mirrored Leone's love of conversation, but the former prince no longer had the desire to push himself to impress anyone. Natalia had been simple. Charm that resulted from both natural talent and honed skill was easy to dust off and use at will. Forcing himself to engage in dialogue was another matter.

Besides, Leone hadn't seemed to mind Hans being short with him that morning. He had simply bounded off to the breakfast table. If he was always so easily distracted, Hans could probably get through the day with hardly a word. The former royal kept his ears open for any useful information, but didn't engage his coworker despite the man's frequent inquiries. Hans ignored any questions unrelated to the job, at which point Leone would change the subject. He prattled on about the differences in weather between the Mediterranean and North Atlantic, every sport in existence, and his mother's cooking.

"Phew!" Leone wiped his brow on a rolled-up sleeve. "Speaking of good food, all this manual labor is making me hungry! Let's take a break!"

 _Break?_ Hans hadn't planned on one, having never been allowed even a moment of rest on the job before. He went down his mental checklist. They were much further along than he'd anticipated. "I suppose we can afford a brief—" He stopped short when he realized Leone was already at the well pump. The prince-turned-stable-hand released an exasperated groan.

As he waited for his turn to wash up, the oddity of the circumstances struck him afresh. The whole affair would be unthinkable if he were still under guard. Initially, he'd been supervised around-the-clock. The sentries that oversaw his labor had been especially unpleasant, "encouraging" him whenever he appeared to slack off. A few months into his new life, there had been a mix-up in the guards' assignments, leaving him without a chaperon. A more foolish man would have attempted an escape, but the disgraced prince knew better. Even if he _did_ manage to slip away unnoticed, his family would never allow him to remain free. A lost convict of his notoriety would make the crown look incompetent and further sour foreign relations. He would be hunted down, hauled back to the Isles, and disciplined with severe harshness. With that assurance, the once-royal man had carried on with his duties. When the lapse was finally discovered, he'd already retired to his cell for the night. After ascertaining that he had indeed completed his tasks, the soldiers left him alone with increasing frequency. Now nearly a year into his sentence, he hadn't had an escort in months. One wrong move, though, and that was sure to end.

Hans wiped his wet hands on the small towel Leone produced from the tin box. Taking advantage of a stranger's charity wasn't exactly a punishable offense, but his older siblings would use any reason to increase his burden. _At the very least, they would put an end to any kindness that benefited me._

"This one's for you!" Leone waggled a wrapped sandwich under Hans' nose.

"Ugh," the former royal grunted as he pushed the package away.

Leone knit his brows and examined the offending bundle. "What? Do you not like sandwiches?"

Hans grimaced. While that word was faintly connected to the incident he'd most like to forget, it was the item itself, not the memory, that had triggered his revulsion. His body had grown used to receiving only one meal a day, and it was taking a while to digest the large amounts of rich food he'd recently eaten. The thought of _more_ food made him queasy. "I'll just have some water."

Leone shrugged. "Alright, I'll leave it in here in case you get hungry," he announced as he exchanged the sandwich for a canteen and tossed it to Hans. The auburn-haired man sipped from the container as his colleague tore into his lunch.

"You said you usually help your father. What does he do?" Hans timed his inquiry to end between bites so Leone wouldn't start babbling through a mouthful.

"Well, normally we ferry freight all over the place. Special jobs where the client wants speedy delivery they can't get with the big, scheduled companies. Right now, though, Pappa's helping a friend expand his business. They're figuring out new shipping routes, the best cities to have storefronts in, and all that kind of stuff. I run errands for them, like posting letters or fetching maps." Eager to return to his meal, the foreigner's teeth ripped off a hunk of sandwich so large it stuck out through his lips.

"Your family must be well-traveled," Hans stated. Leone nodded vigorously as he chewed with chipmunk-esque cheeks. Hans pretended he didn't notice. "I'm sure that makes life a tad less dull," he mused before taking a drink.

The ex-prince hid his jealousy. He had taken every opportunity to leave the wretched islands, including a four-year tour with the naval forces that began shortly before he turned sixteen. Yet no matter how many times he left, he was always made to return for one reason or another. Thanks to the events of his last voyage, he would never leave the city, let alone the Isles, ever again.

"A lot less!" Leone paused for a swig from a second canteen. "It's great, seeing new places and meeting new people! You should come with us the next time we set sail!"

 _If only it were that easy..._ "I have responsibilities I can't abandon." Hans was careful to appear nonchalant.

Leone's puckered frown was almost comical. "Well, it's a standing offer, should your situation ever change."

Hans gave a bemused grunt. "Do you make a habit of inviting complete strangers to live with your family?"

"Hmmm..." Leone looked up, giving the question serious thought. "Nope, you're the first!" he finally exclaimed with a wide smile.

 _I don't know if I should be especially insulted or exceptionally grateful._ "That's surprising, considering how welcoming you all are. In any case, I appreciate the sentiment." Regardless of his true feelings, the latter was the better mask to wear.

Leone vocalized something incomprehensible through the sandwich crammed in his orifice. Hans raised a condescending eyebrow at his conversation partner, who gave a muffled apology before gulping down his food. "If there's anything you need, don't be afraid to ask. We'll help you in any way we can."

"Why?" The question slipped from Hans' lips without any forethought, and he internally berated himself for it. He shouldn't provoke any reconsideration of the offer.

"Have you ever heard the parable of the Good Samaritan?" Leone wiped his hands on the still-damp towel.

"I read it once when I was a child." Scripture had been required study material for all the princes when they were young, but was replaced by more important subjects when they became adolescents. "The moral is to be kind to strangers, yes?" _That makes sense._ One never knew when a random person could become the most important cog in the machine.

Leone rocked his head side-to-side as he considered Hans' summary. "It's more like, 'Love your neighbor as yourself, and your neighbor is anyone and everyone, even a near-dead stranger you just happen to pass by.'"

Hans scoffed. The message sounded ridiculous when rephrased, but he had to admit that it described the prior evening's events almost exactly. "So you helped me because of a story?"

The brunette shook his head. "My family and I helped you because we're Christians," he gently corrected. "That parable is just one of many passages where we are commanded to love others with the same sacrificial love that Jesus displayed."

Hans let out a dry laugh. "Ninety-nine percent of the populace would label themselves 'Christian' and they _all_ would have left me in that alley."

Leone frowned. "You don't know that, but let's assume you're right. It's easy to claim the name of Christ. It's a lot harder to follow in His footsteps."

The former royal knew from experience that even the most sweet-tongued people were fickle at best. Still, Leone and his family had already proven themselves, hadn't they? _Don't be so naïve! They think you're an unlucky gentleman, not a fallen prince._

Hans knew he risked revealing himself, but he needed to test the waters. _Just how far does their 'Christian charity' go?_ "I can understand helping everyone from loved ones down to unfortunate strangers, but a criminal deserves whatever harsh treatment he receives."

Leone stared as if he'd just been slapped across the face. Hans hadn't thought his statement to be anything unusual, but it had definitely caught the foreigner off-guard. _Does he know about me? Was he surprised to hear me condemn myself?_ Leone's shock lasted mere seconds, since he quickly busied himself with sipping from his canteen. He looked to be deliberating his next words, which, from what Hans had witnessed thus far, was rare.

Leone exhaled slowly before speaking. "People who break the law must be punished, otherwise there would be no justice. However, it's wrong to gloat over convicts or find joy in their suffering. Rather, they should be ministered to in the same manner as everyone else. 'For there is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by His grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus.'"

Hans couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you honestly saying you wouldn't treat an inmate any differently than your own flesh and blood?"

Leone leaned forward, now calm and self-assured. "I trust the Holy Spirit to guide me in how close I allow anyone, including a criminal. I'd bunk with him and call him my brother if that's what I was led to do."

 _Idiot._

"You're a strange one, Leone," Hans sighed, pulling his gloves back into place. Leone chuckled softly as he stretched, but didn't retort. _Speechless twice within minutes? I can't tell if that's good or bad._

Hans stood and surveyed the stable yard. "We need to finish our work." He plucked a shovel stuck upright in the mud and resumed his tasks.

Leone hopped to his feet. "That's right, we have to be done by afternoon tea!" He snatched up his own shovel and began to help. "So, what do they usually serve with tea here? Scones? Biscuits? Cookies?"

Hans was somewhat relieved that Leone had gone off on another random tangent. The tension had dissipated, though questions lingered. The ex-prince still wasn't sure whether or not the foreigner knew the truth. Perhaps he was keeping mum until he could play the situation to his advantage. Or maybe he was simply that gullible. Either way, the man seemed determined to continue extending his assistance. _I'd be a fool not to take it._


	4. The Well

The remainder of their labor passed uneventfully. The pair finished early and left after the grumpy butler grunted his approval.

As they headed for _La Stella Luminosa_ , Hans marveled at how _unnoticeable_ he had become. He had longed for recognition for so many years, yet was always passed over in favor of someone else. That was his life as the thirteenth child, the youngest of the current generation of Southern Isles princes. No one in his family cared about him, and no one outside his family knew of him. Arendelle was his chance to change that. If he had become king, his father would have seen him as a valuable heir instead of a worthless spare. The citizens of Arendelle would have revered him, and the residents of the Southern Isles would have no longer asked "Who?" when they heard the name Prince (or King) Hans. That would have been his new life... had his plan succeeded. Instead, he was thwarted by events he still didn't quite understand.

Ironically, his fall from grace _had_ garnered him recognition, but not the kind he'd always dreamed about. He'd been the center of his family's attention for a brief time after his return, when they debated his punishment. After disowning and sentencing him, he hadn't seen any of them, so his life wasn't much different in that regard. In a way, it was better, as he hadn't had to deal with the verbal and physical abuse that had been so common in his royal life. But, then again, the people of the Isles more than made up for his family's absence. He was ignored or berated, shunned or reproached, avoided or attacked. It was the same life he'd always lived, only now everyone, from the aristocracy down to the plebeian, was free to participate.

However, as he'd noted that morning, a change in wardrobe meant he was simply another face in the crowd. The few who had a memory for faces eyed him with suspicion, but ultimately did nothing. Perhaps Leone's presence made those few second-guess themselves. After all, no sane person would _enjoy_ being around ex-Prince Hans. _No one_ _ **ever**_ _enjoyed being around me unless I was somehow useful to them._

Hans glanced at his companion. Leone was rambling on about the layout of the city streets compared to other cities he'd visited. The man was practically shoulder-to-shoulder with Hans, and kept pace no matter how fast or slow the ex-royal walked. Hans ignored yet another of Leone's questions, and the foreigner continued on, unfazed. Had this been his old life, Hans would have been sure of the underlying reason: his conversation partner wasn't actually interested in conversing and merely liked hearing his own voice. However, this _wasn't_ his old life. This man had put himself in harm's way to rescue him, a stranger. And when he had ungratefully lashed out, this man had thrown himself down to his foul, muddy level.

Hans gave the man beside him a more thorough scrutinization. Leone was looking forward-left, commenting on the names of the streets they passed. His face seemed to naturally rest in a cheerful state, the ever-present smile widening whenever he saw anything that tickled his sense of humor. _I suppose it's easy to be like that when you're raised in a family as kind as his._

Leone snapped his head right, having spotted something of interest. It was quickly forgotten, however, as he caught Hans' gaze. "Are you alright?!"

The two locked eyes, Hans trying to solve this puzzle of a person while Leone attempted to ascertain the answer to his inquiry. His worried tone and concerned expression were the same as they'd been the previous evening. _Exactly the same..._

That was it. Leone loved talking, but not for his own sake. He wanted to be friends, as Natalia had said, and his method of making friends was to speak of every topic that popped into his head until he found one that was met with mutual enthusiasm. His frequent questions were his way of making sure the other party felt welcome to join in. Hans' silence at every opportunity signaled disinterest to Leone, who would then try another subject. Plus, Leone wasn't entirely stupid. He'd witnessed Hans pull away when pushed too hard. Thus Leone never pressed any point, content to let his curiosity go unanswered and give Hans his space. Uniquely, Leone's incessant babbling was a mark of _selflessness_ rather than selfishness.

"Lars?"

"I'm fine," Hans replied, shaking off the daze he'd fallen into. "My apologies, I was lost in thought..." He searched for a distraction, and his eyes fell on a street sign. "Did you know this avenue was named ' _Heldig Hest_ ' in honor of King Anders' favorite stallion?"

"What?! Who's King Anders?! What's ' _heldig hest_ ' mean?!"

Hans couldn't tell if Leone was genuinely intrigued by the trivia or if he was just excited that Hans was actually speaking to him. "Anders was the third ruler of the Southern Isles. ' _Heldig hest_ ' translates to 'lucky horse.'"

"Really?! Why was he considered lucky?"

Hans smirked as they continued walking. _I suppose a little pointless discussion wouldn't kill me._

* * *

Mirella must have been anticipating her son's return, since he hadn't even stepped off the gangplank before she stuck her head out the cabin door. "I need you to buy a few things from the market."

"I thought you and Natalia went to the market this morning," Leone whined as he retrieved a paper and money pouch from his mother's waving arm.

"We did, but since _someone_ wouldn't wake up to come with us, we couldn't get everything we needed," Mirella retorted as she took the lunch box from Leone.

"Oh. Heh heh. Sorry, Mamma." Leone read the list before stuffing both items in his pocket. "This shouldn't take long. Do you want to come with me, Lars?"

"He's had a long day of tough work," Mirella tutted before Hans could open his mouth. "You go by yourself. Don't dawdle and stay out of trouble."

"Yes, Mamma," Leone acknowledged, though his disappointment was clear. Hans, however, was secretly relieved. Someone might reveal him if he interacted with the townspeople. Mirella had saved him from having to think up a reasonable excuse. Still, it was best to be polite.

"I feel fine. I'm perfectly capable of assisting in any manner." Even though he suspected Mirella wouldn't rescind her judgment, his hardiness wasn't a farce. Having an extra set of hands on the job meant he had strength to spare.

Leone silently begged his mother's approval as she considered her guest's offer. Immune to the pleading gaze, Mirella set her sight over Hans' shoulder.

"I'm sure Natalia could use help fetching water," the matriarch announced with pointed volume.

Hans turned around to see the aforementioned girl halt her ascension of the staircase. Her bewilderment at the trio's stares was plain.

"Uhm, yes?" she ventured, unsure of the context of her mother's declaration.

"Okay, okay," Leone muttered dejectedly, trudging away. Mirella smiled triumphantly and returned to the cabin.

"May I?" Hans reached for a bucket but grasped nothing except air. Natalia had vanished. Hans peered through the hatchway. "Hello?"

"Just a moment," the unseen woman answered. She re-emerged from the belly of the ship with a second set of buckets.

"Thank you for helping," she said as she handed over a pair of pails.

"It's my pleasure," Hans replied with a broad smile, taking a handle in each palm.

Natalia led the way down the gangplank without another word. Her silence didn't bother Hans. After dealing with Leone, it was nice to have the only sounds be the wind, waves, and bustle of common life. With nothing to actively engage in, Hans relaxed. The gait of the girl ahead of him was steady, and the pails swinging in his grip provided a calm tempo. _That was clever._ He could appreciate a woman who thought of the most efficient way to complete a task. Every lady he'd encountered in his royal life would have simply given him a bucket — or both buckets while she sat on a couch doing nothing. Then again, none of those women would be fetching water in the first place. _Necessity is the mother of invention. One must make the best use of their labor and time when they're not handed everything on a silver platter._

He grimaced as his eldest brother's face flashed through his mind. Klaus, as the crown prince, never had to worry about his place in life. If their father lived to a ripe old age, the oldest of the Westergaard bunch could carry on as he had done thus far: making no difficult choices and enjoying the privileges of his status. Unlike Hans, who always had to fight to glean a scrap of attention from anyone. Even something as basic as receiving one of his brothers' old garments was a chore when there were twelve more important princes for everyone to tend to. _Never mind that I had outgrown my only overcoat. No, Clement wasn't happy with his new vestment for the third time that month, so it needed to be completely remade before anything of mine was given a moment of thought._

The clatter of wood against stone alerted him to their arrival at the well. Natalia had set down her equipment and was pulling the rope over the side.

"Why don't you put the bucket on the ledge?" Hans suggested as he tapped the stone-and-mortar cylinder.

"Leone did that once and knocked the bucket into the well," Natalia explained. "So I always tie it off on the ground." She finished attaching the pail, lifted it into the well, and pushed on a lever to swiftly drop the bucket. A splash signaled her to release her hold, stopping the gear once more. Leaning over the opening, the young woman grabbed the rope and swished it around.

"Be careful, now," Hans reprimanded, placing a chivalrous arm in front of his companion's chest. "We wouldn't want to lose _you_ down the well!"

Natalia giggled. "You don't have to worry. I know my limits."

"Alright," Hans conceded, withdrawing his arm, "but I'm not diving in after you."

Natalia laughed outright this time. Judging the bucket to be full, she straightened and reached for the crank.

"Please, allow me." Hans began to turn the handle, spooling the rope around the shaft and raising the pail. Natalia seemed to be watching him, but when he glanced her way she was focused on the ascending water.

When the bucket was high enough, Natalia pulled the pail to the lip of the opening.

"Hold another bucket on the well while I transfer the water," Hans advised. Natalia eyed him warily as he placed an empty pail on the ledge. "I won't knock it down the well," he reassured her. "If I do, I'll go in after it."

Natalia clamped down on the rim as though the pail might float away. "So you'll jump into a well to retrieve a bucket, but not me?" She was doing a terrible job of masking her amusement.

Hans tipped the contents of the anchored pail into the gripped one. "It makes more sense to throw you a rope and pull you out. If I dove in, then we'd both be stuck down there."

Natalia pondered this as she lowered the now-full bucket to safety. "What if I had hit my head and was unconscious?" she queried as he dropped the tied pail for its second trip.

Hans raised curious brows at her. "Hm. First and foremost, I would make sure there was a rope that could support both of us. Then I would climb down the rope so I didn't hurt you or myself by diving into the well. Finally, I would secure you to my back with the end of the rope before climbing up like a mountaineer."

"That's very thorough," Natalia complimented. They filled the second pail. "But what if I was face-down in the water? I might drown before you could save me."

Hans chuckled over the splash of the bucket below. "Isn't that rather morbid, especially for a lady?"

Natalia's shoulders tensed, despite tugging the rope back and forth. "I always envision every possibility for a given scenario," she mumbled, releasing the cord and brushing back a stray lock of hair.

"As do I. It's nothing to be ashamed of," Hans encouraged her. "Most people don't have the wits for that sort of thinking."

Natalia blushed as they filled the last loose pail. "Maybe." She watched the bucket's final descent. "So what _would_ you do?"

"I suppose I would drop the well's rope," Hans began as he released the lever, "then slide down it, hoping the structure can support my weight." Natalia made sure the bucket was full as he continued. "I think that would be the fastest way to get to you with the lowest chance of further injuring you. Then, as before, I would tie you to my back and climb out." He started the now-routine rotation of the handle. "However, if it seemed like the crank shaft was going to give way, I would stay put, using the dangling rope to keep us afloat with minimal effort while we waited to be rescued." He stood back as Natalia retrieved the pail. _Of course, no one would bother if they knew it was the ex-prince that needed help. They'd save Natalia and leave me at the bottom of the well. Probably seal it off while they're at it._

He became aware of the fact that he was absent-mindedly staring at Natalia and shifted his gaze sideways as she looked at him.

"Are you alright?" Natalia inquired softly.

"Oh, fine," Hans replied hastily. "I just get lost in thought sometimes."

"Me too," Natalia admitted bashfully as she hooked two buckets to the shoulder yoke. She motioned for Hans. "Here. It's easier to carry the pails with this."

"No, you use it," Hans graciously declined. "I'll be fine carrying the buckets at my sides."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am." Hans assisted Natalia in placing the yoke across her shoulders, then retrieved the other two pails.

The pair began the journey back to the ship. Hans stole a glance at the girl beside him. She was looking at him, but much lower than eye level. He tracked her vision for a moment before realizing the target of her focus.

He mentally cursed himself as he prepared his most affable tone. "Am I correct in assuming that you made my new gloves last night?"

Natalia's eyes met his in shock before she abruptly turned away. "Yes."

Hans could read her body language like a book. "Why are you embarrassed?"

Natalia's grip on the yoke tightened. "Because you noticed I was looking at them."

"It was a little obvious," Hans informed her with a smirk.

Natalia seemed to shrink into herself as she widened the gap between them. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to see how well they fit you."

Hans inwardly cringed at his gaffe. "There's no need to apologize." The last thing he needed was Natalia closing herself off from him. "I know you're hesitant to say what's on your mind, but I hope that perhaps you'd do me the honor of speaking without reservation."

Natalia's knuckles had turned white. "I didn't want to seem like I was trying to guilt you into thanking me by broaching the subject."

Hans laughed. "I would never assume such a thing. I can tell that you aren't the sort of person who would do that."

Natalia sighed. "Well, not on purpose."

"Certainly not."

The two lapsed into silence. Hans casually side-eyed the young woman. Her lips were pressed together and her eyes fixed on the cobblestones before her, but her hands were returning to their usual shade.

"May I ask you a question?" Her voice was so low, she was almost whispering.

"Absolutely!" Hans replied with measured gusto.

Natalia's smile seemed to indicate appreciation for his zeal. "How did you know I sewed the gloves last night?"

"They're clearly new, and you were tired at breakfast." It had been easy to deduce, though he was still frustrated that it had slipped his mind in the first place.

"That's quite an astute conclusion," Natalia commended. She fell silent for a moment, deliberating her next morsel of speech. "Um, how do they fit?" she asked.

"They're perfectly sized for my hands," Hans answered cheerfully.

"Oh, good! I wasn't sure, since I was going by the size of your worn gloves, and I didn't actually measure them, I tried them on before we washed them and then used the comparison to cut the material. At first I thought I should make them a little bigger, because if they were too small they'd be worthless and I could always take them in if they were too large, but then I remembered that I had to account for the material stretching with wear, so I ended up leaving them the same size as your old gloves..." Her nervous ramble trailed off when she noticed Hans staring at her. "I'm sorry, was that wrong?"

Hans blinked and shook his head. "No, no, I was just impressed that you crafted something so accurate with such an inaccurate method. Your skills are impeccable."

Natalia looked away, her shyness getting the better of her. "Mamma always says I have an eye for details, but I'm simply of average ability," she murmured.

Hans chuckled. "Your mother's right. Speaking of details, I am curious as to your reasoning for choosing blue silk as the lining." He had wondered about the light blue cloth on the interior of his gloves since his earlier inspection of the gift.

"Ah, well, I chose silk because it's superior to other fabrics in controlling heat and moisture." Natalia sounded unusually self-assured, confident in her education on the craft. "So it was the best material to use. The color was because... uhm... it was the only silk I had," she finished in a tiny voice.

"Of course. I'm sorry." Hans felt foolish for even asking. If Natalia had options, she surely would have picked a color more suitable for work gloves than the delicate shade she'd used. It wasn't as though she was a royal tailor with an array of bolts to select from. She was probably lucky to have a piece of silk in the first place. _And she wasted it on me._

Natalia smiled at him. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm just glad they fit. Your old gloves probably wouldn't have lasted much longer." Her smile disappeared as it dawned on her what she'd just uttered.

Hans could see the questions on her mind. "It's alright, you can ask whatever you want." He was confident he could handle any inquiries about "Lars" she would be bold enough to vocalize.

Natalia tapped the yoke with her thumbs as she gathered her thoughts. "When you first arrived last night," she finally began, "Mamma and I assumed you were a gentry who'd gotten caught in one of Leone's mishaps." She paused, uncertain of whether or not to continue.

Hans nodded once, signaling her to go on. He knew where this was headed.

"But someone of nobility would never let their clothes become so worn, and they wouldn't work as a stable hand. So, I suppose I'm just wondering..."

"Who I am?" Hans finished.

"Uhm, yes." Natalia seemed distraught, as though it were a horrible transgression that she'd dared to pry into his personal affairs.

Hans flashed a reassuring smile. "Your inquisitiveness is completely understandable. As you suspected, I _am_ of noble blood. However, I haven't lived a gentleman's life for some time. I won't bore you with the particulars. Suffice to say, I have some older brothers who squandered the family fortune, leaving me with naught but the clothes on my back. Now I must labor for my meals. A reserve stable hand is an in-demand line of work."

Natalia's horrified expression signaled she'd completely bought the fib. "That's terrible! To be so irresponsible and leave your younger sibling with nothing..." Her eyes widened and darted around, searching the pier.

Hans wondered what had spooked her. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, no! I was just worried that someone overhead." Satisfied there wasn't a soul within earshot, she returned her gaze to Hans. "I mean, I'm sure you don't want the whole world to know this."

While there was truth to her words, Hans could tell her given reason hadn't been her primary motivation in looking about. _A tidbit to store for a future date._ "It's not something I wish to openly advertise."

"Of course." She smiled apologetically. "But I'll need to inform my family of this, if that's alright with you. I'd understand if you'd prefer not to share the story, but I don't want to keep secrets from them."

Hans looked her in the eye. "I would _never_ ask you to lie to your family. Although I have a feeling you aren't capable of it anyway," he added with a note of amusement. Natalia was far too easy to read. Any attempt at outright dishonesty would be written all over her face.

Natalia's red cheeks deepened to crimson. "Pappa tells me that's part of my 'appealing sincerity,' but I think others just see me as naïve."

"That's their loss," Hans vehemently stated. _If anything, the whole family shares a cer_ _tain naïveté._

"At least it's not much of a loss," Natalia mumbled under her breath.

Hans cocked his head at her, but the young woman was staring at her feet. She didn't appear to know that her accompaniment had overheard her muttered self-insult. _Transparent_ _ **and**_ _low self-esteem? What a perfect combination._

"May I ask a favor of you?" Hans whispered.

Natalia perked up. "Absolutely!" she replied brightly.

"Don't tell your family about my past until after I've left this evening. I'd rather not discuss the whole affair. I'm sure they'll understand."

"Yes, of course," Natalia assured him.

The duo reached the base of the gangplank. "Ladies first," Hans urged with a slight bow.

"Thank you," Natalia politely replied before deftly scaling the angled board. Once on deck, she turned back to check that Hans was still behind her. "I'll show you where we store the water." She descended the staircase.

Following close behind, Hans glanced from his companion's back to the wooden planks beneath his feet. _'I tried them on before we washed them.'_ Natalia had been planning on sewing a new pair of gloves from the start, before their conversation on the stairs. _At least they practice what they preach._ He couldn't recall ever meeting anyone who would stay up all night making something for a poor stranger.

There were several barrels secured in a corner, one of which had a funnel sticking out of the hole in the lid. The pair emptied their buckets, filling the barrel nearly to the brim.

"Perfect," Natalia stated as she removed the funnel. She tapped the cork back into place with a wooden mallet. "There."

Hans watched as she returned the tools to their homes. "We're done?" he queried, surprised.

"Yes. Thank you for your help."

"I didn't help very much," Hans chuckled.

"You helped as much as you could. Either way, I appreciate it." Natalia's smile complemented her words.

Hans returned the expression. "Not as much as I appreciate everything you and your family have done for me."

Natalia repeatedly smoothed non-existent wrinkles in her apron. "Helping others is the right thing to do."

Hans smiled despite Natalia still fiddling with her garment. Some would argue that people like himself were a reasonable exception to that creed. He had been lucky to find a family unfamiliar with his crimes. "Speaking of that, is there anything else I may be of assistance with?"

"No, all the chores are done." She took a step toward the staircase.

"Are you certain there's nothing I can do before we eat?"

She seemed to be considering something. "Do you like to read?"

"It's one of my favorite pass times." _At least, it_ _ **was**_ _._ Access to the royal library was one of the privileges he missed the most.

He didn't have time to mourn his lost life. Natalia's face had lit up at his response, and she was halfway up the stairs before she noticed that Hans hadn't moved. "Follow me!"

Hans heeded her invitation. The pair climbed to the deck and entered the smaller cabin. Double bunks took up most of the left and right sides, with chests and dressers lining the remaining wall space. Sunlight filtered through the multi-panel window on the back wall. The curtain that divided the room was pushed back toward the window.

Natalia opened the trunk next to the head of her bed. The contents were neatly divided into stacks of books, piles of cloth, and small baskets of sewing supplies. "I don't have much of a selection, but it's better than nothing."

"Natalia?" Mirella's call was barely dampened by the wall that divided the two cabins. "Will you please set the table?"

"I'll be right there!" Natalia hopped to her feet. "Feel free to take whatever you want," she told her guest. "I've read them all dozens of times." With that, she disappeared.

Hans grabbed several books and silently read the titles. _'_ _Oliver Twist'... 'Hamlet'... Hm._ The third book had nothing on the cover. The rest of the binding was blank as well, so he opened the volume. _Oh!_ It was a surprise to find sketches when he expected a novel. Hans thumbed through the pages. The works were rather proficient, despite the humble medium. He stopped at a detailed drawing of a bride and groom, and chuckled when he realized the bride was Natalia. _A plain yet elegant style. That certainly suits her._ He turned his eyes to the groom, dressed in a simple suit, but with only the faintest oval for a head. Hans found himself smiling as he returned the stack to the chest. _I suppose it's common for women to dream of their wedding day, even if they don't fancy anyone in particular._ He froze with his fingertips still touching the sketchbook. _What if..._ He shook his head as though he could erase the inspiration, but it was too late. The idea had manifested. It needed some thorough planning and polishing before it could be implemented, but he had already laid the groundwork.

"DINNER'S DONE!" Leone's voice echoed through the ship.

Hans gave his appearance a quick check in Natalia's mirror. He was no perfectly-groomed prince, but this was the best he'd looked since he was cast out of his royal life. _I have them to thank for that._ The ex-prince stopped in the middle of the room. He truly _was_ indebted to this family. They had so little, and yet they willingly — _joyfully_ — shared everything with him. _I really_ _ **am**_ _grateful._

Boisterous noise from the adjacent cabin reinforced the positive feeling. "Lars?! Where are you?!"

"Coming!" he exclaimed, though he still lingered. A welcoming family had been a childhood dream. It was odd to experience one first-hand. He was honestly beholden to them for all they had done.

 _I just need to ensure that I continue to have a reason to_ _ **be**_ _grateful._


	5. The Cell

Even though Købense was the capital of the Southern Isles, the only thing that truly distinguished it from other cities was the castle. The Isles were uniform in function: any settlement on the coast was a port for fishing and trading, while inland lay mines and farms.

Twelve separate islands made up the Southern Isles. Bernard the First had united the neighbors into one kingdom. He had twelve sons, and made each one the governor of an island. Since then, it had been said that a Westergaard prince would always have a place in the kingdom.

 _Except me._ He was the first thirteenth prince the royal line had ever born. _The only thing I was ever 'first' to do._ He wasn't even the first Westergaard to be disowned, though no one knew much of the original occurrence. There had been only a passing mention of it in the archives stored in the royal library. Hans had spent countless hours there, reading everything that could be possibly be useful. He had even taken it upon himself to comb through every memoir of past royalty. He'd gleaned a lot of information, including the impression that the Westergaard name, while respected, had never been viewed with affection. Of course, that didn't surprise him.

The sun was almost below the horizon, and the street lamps were being lit. The ex-prince stuck to the shadows as he made his way through the city. It was about a half-hour walk from the harbor to the castle, giving him plenty of time to reflect on the day.

Dinner had been delicious, as expected. Lentil soup, pasta with red sauce, pork roast, carrots, potatoes, and two loaves of bread were spread over the table when he entered the main cabin. The casual conversation put him at ease, as the family had included him without making him the focal point. Hans admired how they simultaneously kept him involved without overloading him. It also worked to his benefit, since being the center of attention was undesirable. The more inquiries they posed, the more likely he would be discovered.

It didn't take long for Hans to notice that Leone took after Mirella, while Natalia was a more extreme version of Vincenzo. Mother and son were responsible for most of the dialogue, with the patriarch interjecting a few well-placed thoughts. Natalia did not speak unless directly spoken to, and offered as few words as possible. Vincenzo and Leone accepted her short answers, satisfied that she'd at least uttered a small sentence. Mirella, on the other hand, was determined to drag her daughter into the discussion. Hans found himself wondering if this was normal or merely because they were entertaining a guest.

Either way, the older woman didn't have much success. Her daughter kept her replies to-the-point, after which Leone would gladly take over. In fact, Natalia seemed far more interested in anticipating Lars' needs than contributing to the confabulation. Hans' hand had moved toward the bread basket, and she'd immediately picked it up to bring it within easy reach. As soon as he'd taken a slice, her other hand was holding out the butter. A quiet "Thank you" and "You're welcome" were exchanged underneath the household chatter. The pink flush that appeared on the young woman's cheeks somehow complemented the smile that accompanied it. Hans had returned the expression before being distracted by Leone's vehement declaration of his hatred for broccoli.

Hans couldn't help the small smirk that crossed his face as he walked. While Leone's outburst had been amusing, the ex-prince was more focused on Natalia's action. It was a small gesture, but yet another piece of evidence indicating she was happiest when helping others. _That certainly bodes well for me._

Natalia was his target, but he knew the rest of the family was also eager to assist. The items he carried were a testament to that: a cinch sack over his shoulder and a basket in the crook of his arm. The sack contained his old clothes and boots, while the basket held the remainder of the food in tightly-lidded tins and jars. He had, once again, been invited to stay the night. However, he declined the offer, saying he was unsure of his schedule and needed to return home. Upon his refusal, Mirella hastily set about preparing the basket for him, while Vincenzo retrieved the sack.

As "Lars" had told Leone when asked, he wasn't certain when he would be able to visit again. Hans then reassured the disappointed face that it would be sometime soon, and Leone's cheeriness returned. Hans shifted his load. It was an odd feeling, knowing that Leone was looking forward to their next meeting. In fact, the whole family appeared glad at the promise of a future rendezvous. _I suppose it's nice to have people who enjoy my company._

The castle loomed in front of him. It punctuated the awareness that the happy little family was the opposite of his own in every way. A lack of compassion and large quantities of offspring dominated the Westergaard bloodline. Power and prestige were the only things that mattered. In fact, Hans knew the only reason his kinsmen even cared about his past misadventure was because it had sullied the Westergaards' reputation. Had he succeed in Arendelle, his relations would have simply shrugged at the fact he'd needed to kill to obtain the throne. "By any means necessary" had been something of a mantra for the royal family since the founding of the country. He was the only one to fail so miserably at upholding it. _I guess I can count that as another 'first' for my record._

He approached a small door in the wall that surrounded the castle grounds. Set with stone to match its surroundings, it was almost impossible to spot if you didn't already know it was there. Even if someone did find it, they'd have a difficult time opening it. There was a series of buttons, disguised as cracked pieces of stone, that had to be pressed in a certain order to unlock the door. It had been Edvin, Bernard's eldest son and successor, who had commissioned the wall and arranged for the secret door. In his memoirs, Edvin admitted to using the door to sneak out undetected while carrying on an affair. It was quite possibly the most shallow of reasons for ordering such a contraption, but Hans couldn't criticize it too much. After all, the hidden door was preferable to any of the gates. There was always at least one person at every gate at any given time, and they were never pleasant. The servants muttered snide comments, while the guards outright harassed him. There were a few exceptions, but those simply cast contemptful glares instead.

It was almost a straight walk from the door to the corner of the castle he now called "home." Stone steps descended a narrow dug-out, ending at a heavy wooden entryway with the dungeon on the other side. It, like his cell, had been unlocked since the soldiers grew tired of escorting him everywhere. He merely needed to complete his labor and be present for his weekly assignments, and he was left alone. Of course, prior to last night, he never had anywhere else to be.

They'd thrown him into the first cell they'd seen, the one closest to the stairs leading up to the guards' quarters. It had no window, but the gridiron wall let light filter in from the cells across the hall. At least the wind wasn't quite as loud on the interior side of the dungeon. Every cell was unlocked, so he _could_ have his pick of any one of them. With his luck, though, the guards wouldn't bother checking any other cells and instead sound the alarm that he'd escaped. Besides, there weren't enough differences between the cells to bother settling into a new one. They were identical save for the window and wind. A little wider than his arm span, each cell's only furnishing was a bed (if one could call a board anchored to the wall a "bed"). With his increased freedom, however, he had added extra mattresses, blankets, and pillows to the bed, as well as a table, chair, washbasin (complete with a mirror, razor, scissors, soap, and rags), and spare buckets. All the items had been collected from either the other cells or the palace rubbish disposal.

The task of delivering his weekly assignments had been designated to one specific lieutenant. Jesper Gunst was a serious fellow, and one of the few who didn't intentionally increase the ex-prince's misery. He was all business: make sure Hans was there, deliver the week's assignments, and leave. Lieutenant Gunst also didn't appear to care about Hans' additions to his cell. Even so, Hans hid his basket between the two short stacks of buckets and stuffed the sack under his pillows. He didn't want to chance changing into his old clothes and being caught in a state of undress, so he wrapped himself in one of the thin blankets and sat in the chair. With nothing more to do until Jesper arrived, Hans' thoughts turned to his newest undertaking.

Unlike his previous attempt to better his life, this idea did not necessitate marriage. It merely required some acting on his part. Currently, he fully expected his newfound benefactors to cut him off as soon as they discovered he was disgraced royalty guilty of high treason. However, if he could get Natalia to fall in love with him, there was a possibility she would continue to provide for his basic needs even after the truth was revealed. It wasn't a certainty, but he should take the presented opportunity.

With what he'd told Natalia of Lars' past, he expected any further inquiries to be few and far between. The biggest threat to the plan was a citizen inadvertently exposing him before Natalia developed true attachment. In that regard, he had to work fast. But, on the other hand, Natalia would surely shrink away if she felt he was too affectionate. The whole affair would be a matter of precise in-the-moment timing, knowing whether to push forward or back off.

The worst-case scenario was that, when the plot inevitably unraveled, his punishment would increase in some unsavory fashion. However, he couldn't picture this family raising so much of a fuss that his brothers caught wind of the scheme. Even if they did, the Westergaards wouldn't care that foreign peasants were incensed by the ex-prince's deception (though certain brothers were likely to arrange some sort of retribution for their own amusement).

The best-case scenario was Natalia falling in love with him while she and her family remained ignorant of the truth. The foreigners would eventually leave, the strategic pursuit would end on a pleasant note, and he would return to the repetitive grind with some new clothing options. While there was a chance these altruists would sojourn in Købense another time, he would deal with that scenario if it arose.

When weighing all the potential outcomes, he had nothing to lose.

* * *

"That's it?"

Natalia gave her brother a quizzical look. "Yes. Why?"

The family of four occupied the dining chairs for their nightly Scripture reading (which they had neglected the previous evening due to Vincenzo's late return and Lars' visit). However, before they began, Natalia shared Lars' past with everyone. She'd been rehearsing the announcement in her head ever since she'd informed Lars of her intent, and she wanted to get it out as soon as possible. Her father and mother nodded during the brief explanation, as though this confirmed their expectations, but Leone seemed to be waiting for an admission that never came.

"I don't know," he sighed in response to his sister's question. "It seems like there's more to him than that."

"What makes you think so?" Vincenzo asked.

Leone scratched his head. "Hm, I can't really explain it. It's just a feeling I got when I met him."

"Was this before or after the stray dog?" Mirella inquired with a bemused smirk.

Natalia held in a giggle as Leone flashed a sheepish grin. "Uh, before, technically."

"Mm-hm. Well, even if you're right, we should still accept what he's told Natalia and leave it at that." Mirella's decisiveness was accentuated by her straightened back, squared shoulders, and folded hands. "If there are things in his past he'd rather not discuss, we mustn't broach the topic."

"But how will we _know_ he doesn't want to talk about them if we don't _ask_ him?" Leone protested.

His mother squeezed her still-folded hands. "If he doesn't want to talk about something, **then he's** _ **not going to talk about it**_." Mirella was clearly irritated with Leone for continuing this line of thought. "What exactly would you ask him, anyway? 'Lars, are you hiding something from us? The impoverished nobleman back story just doesn't seem to fit you.'"

"I wouldn't say it like _that_!" Leone snapped, glaring at his mother.

"Eh- _hem_." Vincenzo purposefully cleared his throat, locking eyes with his son first, then his wife. "You both have good points. On the one hand, we want Lars to know that we're here for him no matter what his life has been like before. Sometimes a person needs a little nudge before they reveal their troubles to others. On the other hand, we don't want to be suspicious of him for no reason, nor make him think our aid is dependent on him telling us things he doesn't want to share."

Mirella and Leone both stared at the table in contemplative silence. Natalia's hands relaxed, freeing a now-crumpled corner of her apron. It had been years since her father had needed to diffuse a family argument. This tiff was nothing compared to those memories, but the squabble had still unnerved the young woman.

"What do you suggest?" Leone finally asked, raising his eyes.

"Don't ask him questions about his past for no reason," Vincenzo advised. "Give him general encouragement so he knows he can talk to us about anything. If questions about his past are appropriate for a particular conversation, go ahead and ask him. If he doesn't respond, then drop the subject."

"Do—" Natalia stopped herself as soon as she realized she was speaking. A sentence had nearly tumbled out of her mouth without forethought. On rare occasions, her voice would get ahead of her brain, which, at the very least, resulted in burning embarrassment. Sometimes she was able to halt her speech before anyone noticed. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those times.

"Go ahead, Natalia," her father encouraged.

"No, never mind, it's nothing." Now that she'd reflected on what she'd almost said, she absolutely didn't want to say it.

Mirella raised an eyebrow. "It was important enough for you to start speaking, so it's not 'nothing.'"

Her mother's tone was soft but stern. Natalia knew her parents weren't going to end the conversation until she'd spoken. She swallowed and forced her jaw to move.

"Do... Do you think we should tell him... about _us_?"

She tried to speak clearly so she wouldn't have to repeat herself, but the words came out mumbled anyway. Judging from her family's faces, however, they'd all understood her perfectly.

Her parents looked at each other as if engaging in an inaudible discussion. Her brother became very interested in the texture of the table. Natalia found her hands tying a knot in her handkerchief to match the one in her stomach. _I knew I shouldn't have brought it up._

Vincenzo's voice broke the uneasy silence. "Our family history is not something for casual conversation. However, it's also not something to deliberately hide. I trust we are all capable of discerning a proper context for such a revelation." He paused before adding, "And, don't forget, it's an example of the grace and sovereignty of God." He tapped the Bible in front of him. "We've been through a lot, but we had to go through those trials in order to be where we are now. And we're far better off, praise the Lord."

Natalia smiled as joy returned to her parents faces. Her father was right. She glanced at her brother. Leone was smiling, but it wasn't his usual grin. Behind the happiness was sorrow, and she again regretted having even mentioned their past.

Leone caught his sister's gaze and instantly brightened, any trace of sadness disappearing into cheer. "So, Pappa, what passage are we reading tonight?"


	6. The Cabins

His eyelids parted to darkness. It appeared his sleep cycle was back on track. This was good... save for the fact that his nightmares had returned.

He gave a groggy groan as he rubbed his eyes. The dreams had been kept at bay by sheer exhaustion — quite possibly the only positive thing to come out of his punishment. However, yesterday's events had eased his physical expenditure, thus giving the terrors an opening to manifest.

Hans pushed himself out of bed, still wearing his outfit from the previous day. He was assigned to the palace stables today, so he retrieved the bag containing his old suit and boots. Upon opening the sack, he discovered it not only held the articles he sought, but additional clothes as well.

He pulled everything out to examine his new gifts. _Clink!_ Something hit the stone floor and rolled away. He knelt down to investigate, his fingers brushing rough rock before finding cool metal. When he brought the object into sight, he froze, staring at the item in his hand while his mind struggled to comprehend it.

The gold coin was the highest level of currency in the Southern Isles. The profile of Bernard the First was stamped on the surface, with the Isles' emblem on the back. His bafflement lasted a split-second, giving way to shock as his gaze remained fixed on the piece.

 _There's no way they could afford to give me this. There must have been some sort of mistake._

He flipped the small disc between his fingers as though that would help him make sense of the situation.

 _No one in their right mind just gives this kind of money to a stranger. One of them must have dropped it in the bag by accident. Or maybe it's a test to see how honest I am._

He clutched the piece in his fist.

 _Yes, that's far more logical. If I keep it, I show that I'm a thieving scoundrel. If I give it back, I prove that I won't take advantage of innocent blunders._

After swiftly changing into his old attire, he carefully hid the coin alongside his new wardrobe. He resolved to return the money as soon as possible. At the moment, however, his presence was required elsewhere.

* * *

The Westergaards employed several stable hands, so Hans was always given the most repugnant tasks: mucking stalls, scraping hooves, washing muddy coats, and whatever else the paid men didn't feel like doing. They chose the fun or easy jobs, like exercising or feeding the horses.

Hans had already finished most of the stalls by the time his coworkers arrived. He remained silent as they conversed, oblivious to his presence. A quarter-of-an-hour later, the last of the horses were led outside. The voices and hoofsteps faded, leaving him alone once more.

Normally, he preferred the solitude, but right now he would have appreciated a distraction. So much had happened in the past day-and-a-half that his brain was starting to feel as worn as his body. Then again, his body was presently in a better state than it had been a few days ago, so the comparison of mentality and physicality wasn't quite as profound.

He removed one of his work gloves to massage his forehead, his eyes briefly lingering on the blue lining before tugging his hand free. The gloves were the only new thing he dared to wear. Any outfit other than his shabby royal costume would undoubtedly raise suspicion. However, Natalia had been correct when she'd observed that his old gloves wouldn't last much longer. Hans was counting on his coworkers being as dull-witted as they appeared, chancing that they wouldn't notice the switch from white cloth to brown leather. Even if they did, it would be easy enough to explain away.

Hans re-gloved his hand without bringing any relief to his head. The ache was likely because he had shut off his mind nearly a year ago to keep himself sane. With all the recent commotion, he'd been forced to re-engage his surroundings, and everything he'd buried was beginning to bubble to the surface. The ex-prince sighed in disgust as he resumed his work, hoping to cloud out the stream he'd unintentionally un-dammed.

 _If you had simply kept your mouth closed, you'd be wearing a crown — instead of_ _ **sweat**_ — _on your brow right now._ Hans' arms moved faster, ignoring the internal sneering. _But no, you just_ _ **had**_ _to take the opportunity to gloat, didn't you?_ He shook his head, which only worsened the throbbing pain. _That was the most critical juncture of your life. After all those years of toil, you were a hair's breadth from achieving your goal... and you threw everything away for a fleeting feeling of triumph._ He slammed the rake against the floor, which caused it to bounce out of his hands and clatter across the stall.

Hans pressed his forehead against a wall as the tool slowly lost its momentum and at last lay still. The barn was quiet but the rush between his ears was deafening. _You're nothing but a worthless failure. Always have been, always will be._ He desperately ransacked his mind for something to fight back against the voices berating him, but it was useless. There was no counterargument to be made. There was only well-deserved rebuke. _Why do you persist?_ His chest tightened. _Cease this pointless struggle._ His breath stopped. _Give up._ He was about to drown.

 _I wish they were—_

"Hello?"

His body reacted before his mind regained its bearings. He whipped around, grabbed the coat now in his sight, and slammed its wearer into the wall. His fist recoiled before the haze finally broke, the face before him coming into sharp focus.

 _Damian._

Hans' youngest older brother was wide-eyed and white as a sheet. He remained motionless, his terrified gaze transfixed on the ex-prince.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Hans relished the fact that, after all the years of living in fear of his brothers, the tables were now turned. However, the notion was fleeting, and common sense prevailed. Dishing out an _apropos_ beating would only bring worse repercussions. In fact, he would surely be held liable for what he'd already done.

Hans released his brother, backing away but staying defensive. His thoughts flashed to the closet in the hall, where an assortment of hunting weapons were stored. He always made certain one pistol was fully loaded, should he ever need it.

"What are _you_ doing here?" he growled, glaring down the interloper.

Damian nervously adjusted his coat, still shaken from his experience. "I was looking for a horse."

Hans rolled his eyes. "They're all out in the corral during the day. They always are, unless the weather's miserable." _Anyone with a speck of intelligence knows that._

"Oh, of course," Damian mumbled.

Hans expected his brother to leave, but Damian didn't budge. Instead, he kept fiddling with his coat, as though Hans had forever ruined its perfect placement.

The ex-prince sighed in annoyance. "Are you incapable of finding the corral on your own?"

Damian raised his eyes, but wouldn't fully look at Hans. "No, I just... I haven't ridden in years. I suppose I'm a bit... apprehensive."

"Go find one of the other stable hands," Hans ordered with a wave. "I'm sure they'll be more than happy to assist you with whatever you need."

The twelfth prince nodded, but otherwise remained still. Hans turned, about to walk away, when his brother's voice became audible again.

"Do you wear those clothes every day?"

Hans' head snapped back. He was partly amazed that Damian had noticed, and partly angry that his brother didn't realize the obvious answer.

"A change of clothes is a luxury reserved for human beings," the fallen royal quipped with a shrug.

Damian was not amused. "Prisoners in the city jail receive better treatment."

Hans cocked his head. Was this a trick? Show some sympathy (at least, what passed for sympathy in his family), then do something awful? _Don't read into it. Stay on guard. Go on the offensive._

"What are you doing here, Damian?" Hans repeated. "Why the sudden interest in riding?"

Damian shifted uncomfortably. "I met a woman at a party a few months ago. She said she loved horseback riding, so I told her I did as well. We've been exchanging letters, and she wants to come visit soon—"

"So you need to brush up on your skills," Hans finished. He couldn't help his hollow chuckle. "A relationship founded on lies. Now that's the Westergaard way!"

"It was just that one lie," Damian muttered, offended.

Hans raised an eyebrow. "She readily agreed to engage in this amorous congress?"

Damian's expression flickered from confusion to understanding. "Priscilla's parents withdrew her from our engagement last year," he stated matter-of-factly. "They didn't want her marrying into our family after you... uh... well, you know."

"Oh." Hans' response was flat. He had no idea how to react to that information.

"It worked out for the best," Damian mused. "Rosalie's a much nicer woman. If everything goes well, I'll ask her to marry me."

"I'm _so_ _ **glad**_ my _misdeeds_ have _enhanced_ your matrimony _prospects_." His words dripping with sarcasm, he recovered the rake from its resting place and strode out of the stall.

* * *

Between his quest to contain his inner demons and his fury at his obtuse brother, Hans finished his work in record time. A trip to the Hole was (thankfully) not necessary today, so he had the rest of the afternoon to himself. After a quick change into one of his new ensembles (and a snack from his food stash), he slipped away from the palace grounds.

Simply being amongst the populace helped get him outside of his own head. Before yesterday, he'd never had the ability to relax _anywhere_. He'd always had a target on his back, courtesy of his out-of-place attire. Even alone in his cell, there was always the potential for someone — a guard, a servant, one of his brothers — to show up unannounced and carry out whatever torment they wished.

But here, with his plain clothes and slightly disheveled hair, he blended in. No one cared about him, yet it was different from the familial neglect he'd experienced. Instead of demoralizing, it was... _freeing_. He could do whatever he wanted, so long as he didn't draw attention to himself. His gloves securely stashed in a pocket, he gave a friendly dog a quick scratch behind the ears before continuing on his way. Each step further calmed him, until he reached _La Stella Luminosa_ fully confident that there wouldn't be a repeat of his little episode in the barn.

Bed linens were strung up to dry, swaying in the breeze. No one was on deck, but the main cabin door was open. Hans approached the entryway. "Hello?"

"Lars, is that you?" Mirella's head popped into view, and her lips broke into a grin when her theory was confirmed. "Come in, come in!"

Hans heeded the invitation, only to be assaulted by a measuring tape.

"Ah—!"

"Hm, alright," Mirella muttered to herself, unconcerned with Hans' protest. She shifted the tape from his chest to his waist, and clicked her tongue disapprovingly.

"Excuse me—"

"Yes, dear?" Mirella responded without looking up, taking note of his thigh and ankle circumferences.

The knee-jerk reaction would have been to ask what she was doing, but she was clearly measuring him for tailoring purposes. Hans pressed his lips together as Mirella tapped his ankles.

"Stand straight, please."

Hans' royal reflexes complied without hesitation, and the woman quickly obtained his leg length before moving on to his arm.

Hans finally sputtered his complaint. "Don't you think—"

After a few different measurements, Mirella had gone back to his chest, apparently having forgotten to get the length the first time around.

"—you could have—"

She flipped the tape behind his head and adjusted it around his neck.

"—asked me first?"

Satisfied with her number, she finally looked Hans in the eye. His cheeks were starting to burn in a mix of bewilderment, discomfort, and embarrassment.

"Sorry, sometimes I get so caught up in what I'm doing that I forget everything else!" the matriarch twittered as she draped the tape over her shoulders. She glided to the table, scribbled something on a scrap of paper, then began chalking measurements on the piece of cloth already spread over the surface. "I was just thinking that I should properly make something for you, and there you were! It was a sign from above."

Hans eyed the plain fabric as Mirella continued marking it. "You've already done more than enough for me. In fact, I came here to thank you for the extra clothes you snuck into my bag."

Mirella waved her hand dismissively with no disruption to her workflow. "Oh, those were nothing. Just some old things of my husband's that I took in a bit for you. It'd be much better to have something tailored to your form."

 _Why is this family so obsessed with clothing me?_ Even the most benevolent philanthropist would be satisfied by giving a few spare articles to a beggar. Conversely, Mirella apparently intended to sew him a whole new wardrobe.

"It wasn't 'nothing,'" Hans insisted as he approached the table. "It's the most anyone has ever helped me..." He trailed off before he inadvertently incriminated himself, running his fingers through his hair as he briefly contemplated how to complete the thought. "I'm extremely grateful, but it's not necessary to keep giving me things."

Mirella straightened and put her hands on her hips. "I'm a mother. Serving others is what I do. You need clothes, you get clothes. You're hungry, you get food. Et cetera."

"But—"

"That's how it works in this family. Take it or leave it." Mirella hunched over her project once more. "End of discussion."

Hans plucked the gold coin from his pocket and slid it onto the table in front of Mirella. "Clothes and food are one thing; money is something else."

The woman glanced up, then returned to her work-in-progress. "Money buys clothes and food, as well as other needs."

Hans shook his head. "I refuse to accept this."

Mirella heaved a sigh as she picked up the metal piece. Without warning, she grabbed Hans' wrist, stuffed the coin into his palm, and closed his fingers around the object. She grasped his fist with both hands as she looked him in the eye.

"We're not going to be here forever."

Hans knew this, of course, but the way she said it soured his stomach.

Mirella gave his hand a soft squeeze. "Save it for a rainy day."

Hans could only nod. Mirella smiled and went back to her endeavor.

He watched her for a moment before lowering his gaze to his still-closed hand.

 _I wish they were here._

The abrupt completion of his earlier thought startled him. He shoved the coin into his pocket as his brain frantically searched for a distraction.

"Where's everyone else?" he queried nonchalantly.

"Vincenzo and Leone are still at Brogan's," Mirella replied, carefully slicing the fabric with her scissors. "Natalia's taking a nap." She finished her cut and began another. "Poor dear," she murmured. "She wasn't built for this sort of life."

This piqued Hans' curiosity. "What do you mean?"

The mother appeared to be weighing the pros and cons of explaining her words before opening her mouth. "She looks like a healthy girl, but she has no stamina. Unfortunately, it's her nature to feel guilty if she perceives that others are carrying a greater workload. So she pushes herself until she can't even stand upright."

Mirella pinned some edges together, then continued. "She does this constantly, too. I don't even know what she did yesterday, but she was asleep before noon. And then she got up and fetched almost an entire barrel of water on her own! I only realized _that_ when you two returned from the well and didn't leave the ship again." The woman rapidly pushed her needle through the fabric. "She seemed tired this morning, so I told her to rest while I cleaned up from breakfast. I go outside a while later, and find she's washed all the sheets!" Mirella sighed and shook her head. "I'm at my wits' end. It's bad enough that she's like that with us, her family who recognizes her habits and curbs them as much as possible. What happens when she has a husband and children to care for? I'm worried she's going to work herself to an early grave."

The mother snapped her head up, seemingly having just remembered that she was actually speaking to an audience. "I'm sorry, Lars. I didn't mean to bore you with all that."

Hans gave the woman his most forgiving smile. "It's quite alright. After all you've done, the least I can do is be a listening ear."

The sound of a door opening caught both their attentions.

"Go distract her!" Mirella hissed, her hand paused mid-stitch. "She'll want to help if she sees this!"

Hans gave a nod and hastily departed.

* * *

Natalia was standing by her open door, blankly staring out at the city beyond the pier.

"Good afternoon," Hans greeted as he approached.

The young woman started, unaware of his presence until he spoke. She turned to Hans with a small smile. "Good afternoon," she responded. "Are you staying for supper tonight?"

Hans nodded and returned her smile. "I could never turn down your mother's cooking."

Natalia grinned in agreement. "I should go see if she needs me for anything." She took a step toward the main cabin, but Hans caught her arm and lightly guided her back toward the smaller room.

"Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow one of your books?" he inquired.

"Oh, of course!" Natalia trotted ahead and opened her chest. "Which one do you want?"

" _Hamlet_ , if you would be so kind." Hans joined Natalia in kneeling by the open box.

She shuffled a few novels aside. Hans spied the blank brown binding he'd previously seen and picked up the volume.

"Oh!" Natalia cried as she attempted to take the book from Hans' hand. "That's not it!"

"I'm aware," Hans replied, grasping the item with his other hand as well. "It's your sketchbook."

Natalia went rigid as her face paled. "You... you saw that?"

"Yes, last night." He pried the book from her hand and flipped to the first page. Natalia drew a sharp breath. Hans furrowed his brow at her. "What's wrong?"

"I don't let anybody see my sketches."

Hans frowned. "Why not? They're quite good."

"No, they're not." Natalia tried to grab the book from Hans, but he snatched it out of her reach.

"I don't think you're allowed to tell me whether or not _I_ think they're good," he reprimanded as he turned another page. "Art is subjective, after all."

"But there's undeniably — ngh — a difference — erk — between amateur — ugh — and professional!" Three more failed attempts at retrieving her book were peppered throughout her sentence. She stood up to try and gain an advantage, but Hans was faster, standing in the middle of the cabin with his arm raised straight above his head. Even on her tip-toes, Natalia wasn't quite tall enough.

"Ooo, so close," Hans teased as he dangled the book just beyond her fingertips. He grinned at her determination, and how she was trying her hardest to grab the item without touching him. "Almost! Just a little more!"

Her face suddenly contorted as tears welled up in her eyes. Hans felt a pinch in his chest and mentally kicked himself for taking things too far. "No, no, don't cry," he cooed as he held out the sketchbook to her. "Here, I'm sorry."

Natalia sniffled as she clutched the treasured object to her chest, a few escaped tears making trails down her cheeks. "It's not your fault," she whispered. "I was picked on a lot when I was younger, and... the memory of that... just... I'm sorry." She pulled a handkerchief from her apron and dabbed her face. "I know you weren't being malicious."

Hans shook his head. "Still, it was uncouth and inappropriate behavior on my part." He gently tilted Natalia's chin up and stared into her eyes. "My sincerest apologies. It won't happen again."

Her smile indicated that all was forgiven. He smiled as well, letting his hand and gaze linger longer than he should have. Natalia twitched and pulled away, returning to the open trunk. Hans silently cursed himself as he sat upon the bunk opposite hers. _That was too much. Be more careful._

"I understand how you feel, being picked on." He watched her resume her search for _Hamlet_ , though he suspected she was taking her time in order to recover from their awkward moment.

Natalia paused her rearranging efforts. "You do?"

"I'm the youngest child, and my brothers... well, calling it 'bullying' is far too generous. 'Made my life Hell' is more accurate." At Natalia's shocked gasp, he put his fingers to his lips and added, "Pardon my language."

Natalia pulled the Shakespearean volume from the chest, her eyes glued to Hans. "That's horrible."

Hans gave a dismissive shrug as he absentmindedly gazed out the open door. "That's my family." He heard the ruffle of fabric and turned back so see Natalia sitting on the floor near the head of the bed.

"They never stopped their cruelty, did they? The awful things they did growing up, and then they leave you with nothing." Her eyes were watering again.

"At least they don't bother me anymore," he snickered. This only deepened the crease in her forehead.

 _Empathy._ He averted his gaze to avoid increasing her anxiety. _Knowing that I've suffered upsets her._ They'd bonded over books and troubled childhoods. Things were going well.

"Are you hurt?"

The inquiry surprised him. "Pardon?"

Natalia's arms tensed around the two books in her grip. "You keep rubbing your side."

He hadn't even noticed the repetitive motion of his right hand against his abdomen. He folded his hands in his lap. "I'm fine." That was one memory, above all others, he never wanted to relive. "Just nerves."

"I'm sorry. I diverted us to an unpleasant subject. Here, read." She offered him a book, her smiling eyes fixed on his in the hopes that this small gesture might bring him some comfort.

Hans didn't break eye contact as he removed the book from her possession. "Thank you." He glanced down, and his smile grew to a smirk. "So you've acquiesced to my judgment on your talent?"

"What?" Natalia looked down to find _Hamlet_ still in her grasp. "Ah, sorry!" She held out both hands expectantly. "Trade?"

Hans opened his volume instead. "When I'm done," he retorted coolly. Natalia's angry pout nearly caused him to burst out laughing, but he held it to a snigger as he flipped to another drawing. Natalia lunged for her sketchbook, but Hans merely turned his back to her.

"Hey!" she demanded, her sharp tone astounding him. "You just said this wouldn't happen again!"

Hans pivoted back, his lips curled in a grin. "You're right, Miss Natalia." He snapped the binding shut. "I wouldn't want to gain a reputation as a liar."

The young woman triumphantly exchanged the sketchbook for the play, then scooted farther away as though Hans might go back on his word. He feigned offense at the action.

"You wound me, _mademoiselle_ ," he moaned with his hand over his heart. This elicited giggles from his companion. Hans chuckled before taking on a more serious air. "I meant what I said about your artwork," he reaffirmed. "In fact, you're better than most of the vendors at the festival."

Natalia tilted her head in confusion. "Festival?"

"There's an annual festival that celebrates the country's founding," Hans explained. "It's in a couple weeks, actually." He recalled the few adolescent years he'd snuck away from the royal ball to mingle with the commoners. "There's always a plethora of booths at the marketplace — games, food, books, crafts, art, you name it. Some of those things are of... _questionable_ quality, however. You're leagues above those talentless hacks."

"I'm sure they're not _talentless_ ," Natalia objected, suppressing a smile. "But, thank you. You're too kind." Her red cheeks only enhanced the glow she was hiding.

The ex-prince wordlessly congratulated himself as he replied, "You're too modest." Admittedly, she wasn't even _modest_ ; she was _self-deprecating_. One tiny little compliment and she was beaming as though she'd just been handed the world on a silver platter. _Why is this so foreign to her? Surely her parents and brother would lavish praise on her if she presented them with the results of her skill._

Hans slid gracefully from the bed to the floor. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course, anything!" Natalia answered.

"Why don't you show your work to your parents, or Leone?" He recognized that she was too shy to share her drawings with strangers, but her own relatives should be a different story.

Natalia's face fell and she thumbed the edge of her sketchbook. "They're my family. They say everything I draw is great, even if it's not."

"Hm." Hans rested his head against the mattress and gazed at the ceiling. "I can see how that would appear insincere." He closed his eyes. "Still, it's better than being told everything you do is a pointless waste of time... that you're a worthless waste of space."

The touch on his right shoulder was so light that he thought he'd imagined it. He rolled his neck to see Natalia, who caught his eye with a pointed stare.

"You are _not_ worthless." Her voice was soft but clear. "Every person has value as an image-bearer of God. Each individual is a unique creation that He loves very much. Even if you don't believe that, just know that you're important to _us_."

Hans gently grasped her hand with his left, but only for a second before he released it. He held his breath as she immediately stood and retreated to the other side of the cabin. Switching her sketchbook for _Oliver Twist_ , she returned to her spot on the floor. She'd left a gap between the two, but Hans could easily reach out and touch her. He observed her peripherally as she began to read, then refocused his vision on his own tome. He buried his nose between the pages to hide the smug grin creeping across his face.

 _Excellent._


	7. The Deck

"Lars!"

He jumped at the combination of the loud yell and a sideways face popping into his field of vision. Hans had been so engrossed in his reading that he hadn't even noticed Leone enter.

"Leone!" Natalia scolded. "Don't startle us like that!" Apparently the young woman had also failed to detect her brother's presence.

"It's not _my_ fault you're dead-to-the-world when you've got your nose in a book!" Leone protested. He glanced from his sister to her companion. "A trait you have in common, I see."

"I take it you've never been enthralled by a literary tale." Hans stretched as he set the book on the bed behind him.

"I don't have the patience for long reading spells," Leone explained as he helped Natalia to her feet.

"Is that so? I would have _never_ guessed." Hans' droll tone was complemented by a roll of his eyes.

Both siblings giggled before Leone spoke. "Mamma sent me to fetch you two for dinner."

Natalia was aghast at this news. "Dinner's ready?! Why didn't she call me to help? Or set the table?" With that, she scurried from the cabin.

Leone watched her leave, a peculiar smile on his face. He turned back to Hans. "This is good."

"What?" Hans' inquiry was the natural response to such a statement, though he already knew the answer.

"Her reading instead of doing chores," Leone clarified as he motioned after his sister. "Mamma told me that she mentioned Natalia's work habits to you."

Hans nodded. "Your mother wanted me to distract Natalia from assisting with a sewing project."

The dark-haired youth grinned. "And you did an excellent job of it." He offered his hand to Hans. "You two being friends will be great!"

The redhead paused with his arm partially extended. "Excuse me?"

"It's perfect!" Leone insisted, closing the remaining gap. "You get someone to read with when you don't feel like talking to me, and Natalia gets human interaction that keeps her from wearing herself out!"

Hans allowed Leone to pull him upright. "Is that what friendship is? Mutually beneficial trade-offs?"

Leone scratched his head. "Sometimes, I guess. Other times it's just enjoying someone else's company!"

"Hm." The former royal straightened his clothes, more out of habit than necessity. "Does that make us friends?"

"You're definitely my friend!" Leone confirmed. His bright energy faded slightly as he added, "I can't speak for you, though."

Hans knew how he had to reply. "I suppose 'friends' is an suitable term for our relationship." Leone's face lit up, but Hans continued. "It's far less pitiful than 'charity case.'"

Leone frowned. "Don't be like that."

"You're right," Hans apologized. "'Sponge' is more accurate." Leone's disapproving glare drew out the ex-prince's playful smirk. "'Leech?' 'Parasite?'"

"Ugh, you're so depressing!" Still, Leone laughed as he lightly punched his friend's tricep. "Enough with the dismal humor!"

"Alright, alright," Hans agreed with a chuckle of his own.

"Come on, let's eat!" Leone trotted from the room.

' _I wish they were here.'_

Hans shoved away the recurring thought as he followed.

Dinner was not as plentiful as it had been the previous evening. Mirella had made a soup out of pasta, beans, and ham scraps. It was still delicious, of course, but he'd purposely eaten as little as possible (which was actually rather difficult under the mother's watch). He still had the remainder of last night's leftovers, which needed to be finished before they spoiled. _They shouldn't have given everything to me._ It was plain that the feast they'd enjoyed was out-of-the-ordinary for this family. _Still, even a light meal for them is better than what I've been given since..._

He let his thought trail off as he eyed his city surroundings. Darkness was settling in as the ex-royal traveled back to the palace. _This wouldn't even be a point of contention if you hadn't failed so miserably last year._ Hans shook his head in an attempt to erase the nagging voice. _You'd be eating like a king because you'd_ _ **be**_ _one._ He dug his nails into his palms.

Navigating the quiet streets, he understood why he'd wished for the family's presence earlier. _They're a distraction._ He didn't have time to reflect on his regrets when there were external focal points. _You wouldn't have needed to bother with peasants like them beyond the usual pleasantries... unless there was another disaster which required the citizens to see their king's benevolent compassion—_ Hans gave a low growl that filled his ears and chased the inner noise away.

By the time he reached his cell, he'd resolved to spend as much time in the presence of his new "friends" as his circumstances allowed. _It might be the only way I can survive._ He rubbed his head with a sigh. After gently removing his boots, he turned down the covers.

 _What the—_

He grabbed a candle and lit it in haste, illuminating his bed.

 _Clothes._

Hans gingerly prodded one of the dark fabrics that had been nestled between his sheets. They appeared to be pest-free, but Hans remained cautious as he moved the top layer aside.

 _They're_ _ **my**_ _clothes._

The piles consisted of a few shirts, trousers, undergarments, socks, and a jacket — all the plainest, least elegant pieces of his former wardrobe. Hans sank into the chair, his mind abuzz.

 _Who— Damian. Why? It can't be that he felt sorry for me. That doesn't happen with Westergaards. It must be a trap. Maybe he thinks I'll be foolish enough to wear these to the stable. Or maybe he'll claim he saw me sneak into my room, and of course they'll find these when they search the cell. Then again, he could have just done that today while I was out, and then there would have been guards waiting here to punish me..._

He grunted in frustration and slammed his fist on the table. The candlestick wobbled and tipped over the edge, but Hans snatched the light source before it tumbled to the floor. A shadow under the bed caught his attention, and he knelt down to investigate.

There were slippers, loafers, and boots lined up against the wall. Hans grabbed one of the boots and examined the interior.

 _Empty._ He was half-expecting there to be a snake or some other creature residing in the footwear. Of course, there were still five more shoes left to check.

He picked up the other boot and froze. It was heavier than the first. Hans slowly pulled the footwear into the open and peered inside. There was something white resting at the bottom. _It's not fur... there's no scales... it's too smooth to be bone..._ He carefully tilted the boot until the object slid out. It was a lidded ceramic jar.

Hans gasped as he bolted to a standing position. _How— Of all things—_ He clutched his left side. The incident was seared into his memory, no matter how desperately he wanted to forget. A wave of pain crashed over him afresh, his own agonized scream ringing in his ears despite the silence in the dungeon.

 _Calm down._ He gripped the chair to steady himself. _It's just a jar of cream._

The voice of reason was drowned out by the overwhelming recollection of that particular moment. The cell started to sway and twist before him. He dropped to his knees and fumbled for a bucket. His breath came in sharp pants as he hung his head over the wooden pail. _Pull yourself together._ The soundless order went unheeded as his stomach emptied its contents.

When the heaving ended, he collapsed onto his side. His throbbing temple found slight relief against the cool stone floor. The former prince lay still for a long while, until his breathing and heart rate returned to normal.

Hans slowly eased himself to a sitting posture. _That was disgraceful._ He ignored the chiding words as he stared at the jar in the middle of his cell.

It took him a moment to realize he was simultaneously massaging and itching his chest. _Damn._ He'd gotten used to his tight, dry skin, to the point where it no longer bothered him. Until now, thanks to his idiot brother (which was actually all of them, but, presently, specifically Damian). Hans shoved his hands in his pockets as he warily eyed the container.

 _Maybe it's a warning._

He grabbed the bag he'd received the previous evening. Making sure it was empty, he stuffed all of his "new" old things into the sack, then placed the bag and bucket across the hall. He'd take care of the contained mess tomorrow morning before he began his work. The sack would have to be hidden somewhere in the stable. If anyone ever found it, he could feign innocence or say it had been there since before he went to Arendelle.

After a morsel of bread and water to settle his stomach, the weary man flopped into his bed and was soon fast asleep.

It was late afternoon as Hans climbed the gangplank to _La Stella Luminosa_. Once again, no one was on deck, but both cabin doors were open this time. Hans poked his head through the main cabin's doorway.

"Good afternoon, ladies."

Mirella and Natalia both looked up from their needlework. The mother and daughter shared the same smile, though Natalia's was decidedly more tired.

"Good afternoon," they replied in unison.

Hans returned their smiles as he took a step into the room. "I hope you don't mind if I continue my progress with _Hamlet_."

"Of course not," Natalia assured him. "It's on the bed, right where you left it."

"Thank you," Hans replied. He turned to leave as Natalia resumed her sewing.

Mirella cleared her throat. "Natalia, why don't you go with him?"

The named woman didn't look up. "I don't think the book will be _that_ difficult to find."

"Yes, but Lars is our guest, and I'm sure he would like some company." The matriarch's voice was honey. Her daughter remained preoccupied, so a devious smirk crossed Mirella's features despite her sweet tone. "Didn't you two have a nice time yesterday?"

Natalia started to fiddle with her fabric. Hans noticed and interceded. "It's not necessa—"

"Now, now," Mirella interrupted, "it's not hospitable to relegate a gentleman caller to a dusty corner all by his lonesome."

Natalia furrowed her brow as she pulled her thread taught. "Why would we put him in a dusty corner?"

A snicker died in Hans' throat as Mirella shot him a menacing glower.

The mother heaved a pointed sigh. " _Natalia_."

The younger woman's shoulders sank in defeat. "Let me just finish this sleeve."

Mirella grinned in triumph as she waved farewell to Hans. The "gentleman caller" nodded and retreated from the cabin. As he left, he witnessed Natalia accidentally knock a spool of thread to the floor when she reached for a pair of scissors. He giggled to himself at the way her nose crinkled in annoyance as the spool rolled away.

Hans was halfway through the entrance to the children's cabin when he heard Mirella's voice from the other room.

"Why didn't you tell me today was the day?" Her inflection indicated a mix of concern and rebuke.

Hans couldn't tell that Natalia had replied until Mirella spoke again.

"A couple _hours_? You march yourself right into bed, missy. I'll be in with a hot water bottle as soon as it's ready."

Hans took a step backward. Natalia emerged from the main cabin a moment later. She was slightly hunched over, her arms wrapped around her lower abdomen.

Hans was by her side in a few strides. "Are you alright?!"

She smiled weakly. "I'm fine. I just don't feel very well."

Hans gave a small chuckle as he put a supporting arm behind the young woman's back. "Then the answer is 'no,' you're not alright."

Natalia's tiny laugh was almost imperceptible. "I'm used to it."

Hans cocked his head. "Do you fall ill often?"

"Not especially," Natalia responded, her cheeks turning fuchsia as the pair crossed the threshold. "This is usually just one or two days a month."

Hans wanted to ask what afflicted her so regularly, but Natalia was already uncomfortable. _Don't make it worse._

"I'll be fine from here," Natalia stated, breaking from Hans and beginning to close the cabin's dividing curtain.

Hans put out his hand to stop the shroud before Natalia pulled it between them. "I hope you feel better," he murmured as he caught her eye.

Natalia's face was now bright red. "Thank you, and thank you for helping me."

"It was my pleasure," Hans chuckled.

She flashed one last smile. "Have a good night."

"Good night," Hans replied as the drape completed its journey.

Hans had concluded that the deck was the optimal place for reading. The weather was nice, and he wanted to give Natalia as much privacy as he could. He wagered she'd feel uneasy if he stayed in the room, despite the heavy curtain. He'd settled between the twin masts, leisurely working his way through the play. That is, until he recognized the thud of footsteps.

"Are you going to be here every day?" The bubbly inquirer cast a shadow over the former prince. "I hope the answer is 'yes.'"

"As often as I'm able," Hans affirmed without glancing away from the volume.

"Great!" Leone plopped down next to his friend, his head swiveling as he searched the deck. "Where's Natalia?"

"Sleeping, I presume. She said she didn't feel well, and your mother sent her to bed."

"Was it a headache?" Leone's worried voice prompted Hans to finally tear his eyes from the page.

"No, her stomach," Hans reassured the brother.

Leone exhaled, relieved. "It's probably just the start of her 'lady days.'"

Hans blinked in confusion. "Her what?"

"Let's see, how else do people refer to it?" Leone drummed the wooden boards beneath him. "Oh! 'Nature's monthly gift.' No? How about 'on the rag?' Hm. 'The woman's curse?'" Each phrase was met with an increasingly perplexed grimace. "Okay, the more medical term is 'menstruation.' I'm sure you've at least _read_ that one—"

"Would you stop with the guessing game and just explain it plainly?" Hans snapped.

Leone squinted at his companion. "You _do_ know how babies are made, right?"

Hans' eyes widened in alarm. "She's _pregnant_?!"

Leone's roar of laughter echoed across the ship. "Don't be ridiculous!" he snorted.

Hans' ears were burning. He was obviously missing something here, and he didn't like being ignorant of pertinent information.

The foreigner finally caught his breath and noticed Hans' peeved scowl. "Wow, you really don't know, do you? You must not have any sisters."

Hans didn't bother hiding his irritation. "No, I do not, and I fail to see how any of this is related to Natalia's illness."

"It's not an illness, exactly, it's..." Leone scooted closer to Hans, as though he were about to divulge a secret. "When women are of childbearing age but aren't pregnant, they... _bleed_."

Hans stared at Leone in bewilderment before managing a whisper. "They _bleed_?"

"Yup."

"From... _down_ _ **there**_?"

"Yep."

"And it's _painful_?"

Leone gave a single, solemn nod. "It seems to hit Natalia harder than most women. She usually has to spend the first day or two in bed."

Hans' entire face was crimson now. "How long does it last?"

"Depends on the individual. Anywhere from a few days to a week-and-a-half."

Hans bit his lip. "Isn't it dangerous, losing that much blood?"

"Well, it's not a consistent amount, first of all. The flow starts heavy and gradually tapers off," Leone elucidated. "Secondly, it's not the same as bleeding from a cut. The womb stores blood-rich tissue for use by a baby, but when there's no baby, the body gets rid of it and starts over. It happens once a month, give-or-take a few days."

"I wasn't aware my education on female anatomy was so lacking," Hans muttered.

Leone gave the man a consoling pat. "It's alright. Most people don't talk about it."

Hans raised an eyebrow at Leone. "Then how are _you_ such a wellspring of knowledge?"

The foreigner's blush was subtle, his tan skin hiding most of it. "Well, you know, I chat with anyone and everyone. Some women share the details of their bodily functions with any listening ear."

Hans hoped he would never meet such a woman. The whole affair was horrid enough coming from the lips of a man. Despite his superb skills, he had no desire to test how long he could maintain his composure while a lady discussed bleeding from her nether region.

"Now, Lars, just so I know for certain..." Leone paused to make sure Hans was listening. "You _do_ know how babies are made, right?"

The faded flush flared anew on the redhead's countenance. "Yes, _Leone_ , I am perfectly aware of the process of copulation!" His tutor had at least explained _that_ , albeit briefly.

"'Perfectly aware?'" Leone repeated with suspicion.

Hans groaned and hid behind his book. _I can't believe I'm having this conversation._ "I mean, I obviously _learned_ about it." He glanced over to see Leone's stern stare boring into him, and was once again reminded of how much he took after Mirella. " _Nothing from personal experience!_ " His flustered addendum was louder than he intended, and he hoped there weren't any open ears nearby.

"Good, good," Leone mused, his serious attitude a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. "And I expect that will remain the case in regard to my sister, correct?"

That was the final straw. "Of course it will! I'm not some lecherous, reprobate miscreant!" Hans spat.

Leone pulled away. "I'm sorry," he apologized, "I didn't mean to sound accusatory. It's just a big brother's duty, you know?" He bit his lip. "Er, I guess you wouldn't..."

Hans sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "I understand it rationally, I just don't relate to it emotionally." He managed a small half-smirk. "You don't have to worry, Leone. I'll be a good little Christian boy, just like you."

Leone's eyes widened for a split-second before a hollow smile appeared. Hans hadn't thought it possible to apply the word "disingenuous" to Leone, but that assessment had just been proven wrong. The brunette's expression was plastered on, attempting to hide some other emotion. Hans studied his companion for a moment before naming it. _Regret._

"Have you ever played shuffleboard?" Leone asked while jumping to his feet. He didn't wait for a response before continuing. "It's pretty easy. I'll go get the stuff!" With that, he bounded down the stairs.

Hans stroked his chin as his mind marinated this new morsel.

 _Well well well..._

If half of his brothers were any indication, it wasn't uncommon for a man to fool around with an assortment of ladies before marriage (and, in Gerard's case, after marriage as well). It was simply unexpected to find such a vice in a family so devoted to their faith. _Then again, everyone has their secrets._

Hans moved his hand to his mouth, covering the grin that threatened to break out. _What a fantastic gift._ He now had a shield. If any member of the family insisted on discussing his past, he could deflect the conversation to Leone's after-hours activities.

The former royal could hear his "friend" clattering up the stairs. Hans composed himself before meeting Leone at the hatchway. The foreigner began to enthusiastically detail the ins-and-outs of the game as he chalked boxes on an open area of the deck. Hans was only half-listening, being well-versed in the sport from his time as a prince and a sailor.

"I think that's everything," Leone concluded as he surveyed their playing field. He turned to Hans with a sly grin. "So, are you ready to lose?"

Hans countered with a wily smirk of his own. "Funny, I was just about to ask you the same question."


	8. The Shop

_Hans was well into his morning routine as the sun started to peek over the horizon. He had already finished cleaning the unoccupied stalls, and was almost done scraping the horses' hooves. Only one horse remained, and then he would be out of the barn before the other stablehands arrived._

"Good morning," Hans greeted the inhabitant of the last stall.

The stallion eyed Hans hopefully.

"Sorry, Vanddråbe, Frederich isn't home yet."

The equine gave an annoyed snort.

"Yes, yes, I know," Hans murmured soothingly as he knelt down. The animal had been grumpy ever since his master had gone out to sea. Prince number six of thirteen, Frederich was a commodore in the Royal Navy. The title was gifted rather than earned, and the only time Frederich set foot on a ship was when a fleet was headed somewhere interesting.

 _Although anywhere would be better than here._

Hans released a slight sigh. None of his relatives inspired pleasant thoughts, but Frederich had cemented his place as one of the worst when he orchestrated Hans' release from the navy.

The thirteenth prince had quickly risen in rank, achieving the distinction of captain. A few months before his fourth anniversary, he'd received another excellent review from his superior. Commodore Thulin admitted he wouldn't be surprised if the young man was promoted to rear admiral "very soon."

If that had happened, the baby of the family would have "beaten" one of his elder brothers. Though it had long been permissible for a younger brother to out-rank an older one, Frederich's ego would never allow such a thing.

Hans' fifth year had just begun when he was summoned home at the king's bidding. The prince/captain was suspicious of the abrupt request, but couldn't refuse.

His father's words still echoed in his ears. "With the recent passing of Arendelle's monarchs, the Southern Isles will be hosting many of our royal brethren as they travel to and from the city to pay their respects. This is an excellent opportunity for us to impress our allies, and for my unmarried sons to foster new relationships that will benefit our kingdom."

He hadn't been home more than a week when he received the letter.

" _To His Royal Highness, Prince Hans Westergaard,_

 _Due to the imperative nature of your absence, you have been granted an indefinite leave. You may return to your post as Captain whenever Prince Frederich receives word from His Majesty. I know you will continue to serve your family and country through this new endeavor. May Providence watch over you._

 _I have the honor to remain, Sir, Your Highness's most humble and obedient subject,_

 _Commodore Aleksander Thulin"_

The ex-prince knew his family well enough to deduce what happened. Frederich had asked about Hans' assessment, hoping for it to be negative. Instead, it was stellar with a recommendation for advancement, so Frederich looked for an opportunity to sabotage Hans' career. He found it with the news of King Agnarr's and Queen Iduna's demise, and planted in their father's head the idea of the younger princes "entertaining" the influx of guests. Hans couldn't return to active duty without his father's consent, which of course was never given — Frederich made sure of that.

Hans stood and noticed a burr clinging to Vanddråbe's coat. He carefully removed it, then saw another... and another... Hans laughed as he realized the sticky balls were everywhere.

"I see you got into some trouble yesterday." His observation rang with amusement as he began to extract another barb. It was a mindless task, and his thoughts drifted back to his recollections.

He'd returned shortly before his twentieth birthday, and had just turned twenty-two when the Westergaards received the invitation to Elsa's coronation. Despite the date being more than a year in the future, each of Hans' twelve older brothers declined to attend. So King Lauris ordered his youngest son to be the Southern Isles' representative at the event. _There was no choice._ Of course, Hans would have decided to go even if he had the option to abstain. Becoming a king had been his original goal, and he knew he might never have another opportunity to make something of himself. As a thirteenth prince with no further military prospects, the probability of marrying a princess, let alone a queen, was once-in-a-lifetime.

Hans paused with a single burr left. It had been so long since he'd thought about the past that he only now made the connection. A dark chuckle escaped his lips.

 _Is_ _ **all**_ _my misfortune somehow tied to Arendelle?_

The rap of knuckles on wood startled him, and he shot a glare in the direction of the sound. Damian stood outside the stall door.

Hans turned his attention to the burr once again. "Are these interruptions going to be a daily habit?"

"You're the only one here," Damian explained, "and I wanted to make sure I got a different horse today."

Hans tucked the last burr into his left palm. "Why?"

"I found yesterday's mount to be... _uncooperative_."

"Which horse did you ride?" Hans queried.

"This one," Damian answered with a nod toward the stallion.

The indicted equine gave a low neigh. Hans snickered. "Vanddråbe doesn't like anyone except Frederich riding him."

"So I gathered," Damian replied, "hence my desire for another steed."

"Every animal is available right now, so go take your pick." Hans pocketed his tools and stepped toward the door.

Damian blocked the latch. "Actually, I was hoping I could ride _your_ horse."

Hans froze. "Sitron?" The name caught in his throat and came out as a whisper.

Damian nodded, oblivious to the inflection. "I'm sure he's well-trained, and you'd be able to tell what's wrong with my form—"

"Sitron's not here," Hans interrupted bitterly. "I don't know where he is or what's happened to him."

"I-I see," the twelfth prince stuttered.

"And even _if_ Sitron _was_ here," Hans added, anger rising in his voice, "I'd never let _you_ ride him."

"Oh," Damian mumbled. "I thought, um, maybe we could, you know, work together." Hans' skeptical brows caused the elder brother to shift his weight nervously. "You help me with my riding, I get you things..."

 _So_ _ **that**_ _was the reason._

"I neither require your services nor desire to assist you," Hans sneered, pushing the other man back in order to access the lock.

Damian grabbed his younger brother's sleeve. " _Please_ , Hans, I'm desperate—"

" _You don't know the meaning of that word_." Hans ripped his arm away and unlatched the door.

Damian inhaled sharply but didn't budge. "You're right."

Hans narrowed his eyes. The left side of his torso began to throb, though he knew it was due to ire rather than physical pain. "I don't know what game you're playing, but you're damn lucky I'm even tolerating your presence after what you and Derrick did to me." If his brothers were to be ranked on how atrociously they'd treated the thirteenth prince, Derrick and Damian outstripped Frederich by dozens of nautical miles. "Don't try my patience," the former royal finished with a snarl.

Damian visibly deflated and moved aside. Hans stalked past him and headed for the exit.

"I'm sorry."

The ex-prince stopped dead in his tracks, looking over his shoulder with bewilderment. "What did you just say?"

"I'm sorry," Damian repeated, looking at the floor.

Hans doubled back, halting a few paces in front of Damian. "Do you truly believe mere _words_ can make up for your heinous acts?" the younger Westergaard hissed.

"N-no," Damian conceded. He took a deep breath and finally raised his eyes. "You have every right to hate me. But I'm not the same man, and I... I suppose I'm hoping you can see that."

 _What?_

Hans stood there for a moment, studying his youngest older brother. This whole stunt was due to Damian wanting to impress the lady he fancied. Otherwise, he would have never come down to the stable, much less _apologized_ for the past.

Still, he _had_ done it. _Perhaps I can use this after all._

"Let me make this clear," Hans began. "I don't trust you. If I take the role of instructor, it's because I expect you to uphold your end of this bargain, not due to 'brotherly love' or any such nonsense."

"Right."

"And should I discover that this is a plot to further incriminate, denigrate, or humiliate me, my past will be _nothing_ compared to the suffering I will inflict upon _you_."

Damian gulped at the threat, but nodded decisively. "Understood." He extended his right hand. "We have a deal, then? Riding lessons for clothes and other basic items."

Hans crossed his arms. "Clothing won't do me any good after I've been wearing the same thing for a year. Someone will start asking questions."

"O-oh." Damian's shoulder dropped. "I didn't think of that."

Hans scoffed. "Obviously." Damian had never been particularly sharp. The cunning forethought of their ancestors had skipped him (along with several of their older brothers).

"You can use the undergarments, though, right?" Damian ventured. "And surely no one will notice if you wear a different shirt and vest under your coat. Everything else you could wear in your cell when no one's around. I can get you some night clothes as well."

Now that Hans knew the "gifts" weren't a trap, he could think of a few occasions they might come in handy. He wasn't about to affirm the twelfth prince's probing guesses, though. "I suppose that _might_ work," he wavered, "but there's only so many clothes one can keep in a tiny cell."

"What about books?" Damian suggested. "I could get you a few from the library, then switch them out when you're done reading them."

"I hardly have a spare moment," Hans lied. "My life consists of work and sleep."

Damian fidgeted frantically at his dwindling alternatives. "Alright, but you must need the cream—"

Hans flinched as he cut his brother off. "What makes you think so?"

Damian's eyes widened, and he focused on twisting his shirt cuff. "The doctor said you'd have to use it for the rest of your life, right?" he muttered.

"How did you know that?" Hans growled.

Damian shrank back. "I... _overheard_... one of your follow-up examinations..."

The burrs would have punctured Hans' skin by now if it weren't for his leather gloves. "You had a lot of gall leaving that in my cell, considering _you're_ part of the reason I depend upon it in the first place."

"I just... I just tried to grab anything I thought you'd find useful," his brother whispered.

Damian's meek susurration gave Hans pause. The second-to-youngest Westergaard was one of the few of their kin who tended to be more transparent than deceptive. Years ago, that merely meant his maliciousness was more conspicuous than their other brothers. _But now..._

"Fine," Hans acquiesced.

"Fine?" Damian repeated, his tone a mix of confusion and optimism. "So we have an agreement?"

Hans gave a curt nod. "Yes," he confirmed.

Damian's countenance brightened. "Excellent! So when's my first lesson?"

"Right now." With that, Hans vigorously ruffled Damian's hair with his left hand, leaving the mass of burrs thoroughly entangled.

"Hey! Ow! Hans!" Damian's squeaking protests fell on deaf ears.

Hans stepped back, admiring his handiwork with a smirk. "Lesson one: Don't expect me to go easy on you."

Damian winced as he gingerly tugged on a spiky pod. "Dare I ask what lesson two entails?" he grumbled.

"You'll just have to wait and see." The ex-royal strode toward the stable door, smug satisfaction evident in his demeanor.

 _This could be fun after all._

* * *

"Lars!"

Hans turned at the voice he instantly recognized as Leone's. The brunette grinned and waved as he trotted over to the redhead.

"Were you headed for the ship?" Leone asked as he fell in step alongside Hans.

Hans answered with a single nod. "You?"

"Yeah, but I have to stop somewhere first. Pappa sent me home for the day, but I need to pick up paper and ink so we can bring them to Brogan's tomorrow."

Hans scanned the storefronts. "The stationary shop should be somewhere nearby, right?"

Leone's unruly hair bounced up and down as he nodded exuberantly. "Yep! Follow me!" Without waiting for affirmation, he took off, darting between clusters of people.

"Leone!" Hans called as he pursued the boisterous foreigner. He barely kept sight of the man's brown curls as he weaved through the human maze.

The pair arrived at the boutique in minutes.

"I win!" Leone announced as Hans approached the entryway.

Hans rolled his eyes. "We weren't racing. You told me to follow you."

Leone's grin only widened. "Oh, right!" he acknowledged before ducking inside.

Hans couldn't help but chuckle as he trailed after his companion.

The clerk at the counter looked up with a friendly smile as the two entered, then addressed Leone. "How may I assist you, Mister...?" He trailed off expectantly.

"Just 'Leone' is fine, my good sir!" Leone snatched the man's hand in a firm shake. "I need to charge some paper and ink to Brogan Connolloy's account."

"Let me check my books." The shopkeeper nimbly withdrew his limb, then opened a ledger produced from a drawer. "Ah, yes, your name is listed. I'll get the supplies from the storeroom." He disappeared through a curtained doorway.

Leone glanced over his shoulder as though he expected "Lars" to be right behind him. Instead, the auburn-haired man was mostly hidden behind a rack of merchandise.

Despite Hans always changing into plain clothes before setting foot in public, he was constantly concerned he might be recognized. Consequently, he took precautions against drawing attention to himself. He had stayed back as Leone engaged the clerk, pretending to be looking over the products on a (conveniently face-obscuring) shelf.

"Find anything interesting?" Leone inquired as he popped around the corner.

"Not particularly," Hans replied with a shrug.

Leone's gaze zipped over the commodities before raising his eyebrows at Hans. "Are you planning on buying a specific gift for a certain young lady?"

Hans' brow knit in puzzlement before his brain comprehended the insinuation. He hadn't actually studied the objects in front of him, and now realized the items were various sketchbooks and journals.

 _Damn._ Hans' mind ran down a list of possibilities. If he said "No," it might seem that he had no interest in Natalia, which worked against the "get her to fall in love" plan (especially if Leone blabbed about this incident to her). If he said "Yes," he ran the risk of appearing as though he had _already_ fallen in love with Natalia, which would surely cause concern and hinder his strategy. However, Natalia _had_ given _him_ a gift, so he could say he simply intended to return the favor. But the only money he had to his name was what this family had given him, and he shuddered to imagine Mirella's reaction should she ever discover he had used that money on her daughter.

He sensed a physical presence at his side, and shifted his stare to see Leone's face creeping ever closer.

"Stop that," Hans scolded.

" _You haven't answered me,"_ Leone chimed in a sing-song voice.

"I was deliberating the merits of such an act," Hans responded. _Technically true._

Leone pouted, but didn't have time to retort, as the shopkeeper finally returned.

"My apologies," the man huffed as he set a parcel on the counter. "My wife has been 'organizing' the storeroom again."

Leone giggled. "Not a problem," he assured the clerk as he retrieved the package. "Thank you, and have a good day!"

The two young men left the building and resumed their journey to the harbor.

"Are you sure you didn't need to deliver that tonight?" Hans felt compelled to check his easily-distracted friend's memory.

"Absolutely. Brogan doesn't need them right away," Leone verified. "You know," he proceeded after a pause, "you should come with Pappa and I to meet Brogan sometime. I'm sure he'd hire you."

Hans internally debated the idea. "His last name was Connolloy, right? Is he Irish?"

"Yes, but his wife was born in the Southern Isles," Leone explained. "Don't ask me where," he added as Hans opened his mouth.

Hans laughed. "I was merely curious as to how long they've lived here."

Leone shrugged. "Not sure. A few years, maybe?"

"Interesting," Hans mused, "and what line of business is he in, exactly?"

"Imports and exports — mostly food, but he's looking into other goods with the expansion he and Pappa are planning..."

Leone continued to expound on the subject, but Hans was now only half-listening. With the Connolloys being so new to the Isles, the probability of them recognizing "Lars" as the disgraced thirteenth prince was small. If Brogan would employ him for afternoon work, the ex-royal could actually keep the fruits of his labor.

 _Speaking of fruit..._ Somehow, Leone's discussion topic had become exotic produce. Hans shook his head in response to a question he didn't quite catch, and his conversation partner began to detail the best process for eating a pomegranate.

 _I wonder if he talks this much when he's with his father at the Connolloys' house._ Hans bit back a snicker.

At that moment, a realization struck him. _I don't know Leone's last name._

Hans almost posed the query to the foreigner, but stopped himself. _If I ask, the question will naturally be returned to me. I could give another fake name, but that might make things worse. Instead of strengthening my cover, it may unravel my falsehood should they investigate the legitimacy of my claims._

Plus, Vincenzo and Mirella had introduced themselves with their first names, so they clearly expected to be addressed that way instead of "Mister and Missis." All things considered, it was best to leave the name situation as it currently stood.

The pair reached _La Stella Luminosa_ and climbed the gangplank, only to descend through the hatchway.

"You're not putting that in the master cabin?" Hans questioned as he followed Leone down the staircase.

"There's not much storage room up there. I don't want anything to get damaged." The foreigner stopped in front of some chests secured near the bow. He unlatched one and placed the package inside.

Hans couldn't help but peek over Leone's shoulder at the contents of the trunk. Most items were wrapped or boxed — for protection and tidiness, he surmised — but a glint of gold in the back-left corner caught his eye.

"Is that a hilt?" he asked, craning his neck for a better view.

"Hm?" Leone glanced at Hans, then swiveled forward again as he traced the redhead's line of sight. "Oh, yeah. Help yourself."

Hans withdrew the item and found it was a sheathed dagger. The blade was fingertip-to-wrist in length, and the handle matched the measure of his palm. The crossguard was just large enough to protect a closed fist. The weapon had a simple but sharp design, with the shaft of the hilt wrapped in black leather that contrasted the gold metal.

The former prince's eyes snapped up at the _THUMP_ of the closing lid. "I still have the dagger," he reminded Leone.

The young man flashed a smile. "I said 'help yourself.'"

"I can't keep this," Hans protested, holding the object out horizontally in both hands.

Leone's smile strained slightly as he gently pushed the weapon back to Hans. "Yes, you can. It was mine, and I obviously don't use it, so now it's yours."

Hans hesitated, looking down at the item and up at his friend.

"You need it," Leone insisted. "I may not be with you the next time you run into that gang, or anyone else who wants to hurt you."

Hans clenched the dagger as he silently acquiesced to Leone's urging. He pulled the gift parallel to his chest. "Alright. Thank you."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

1) "Vanddråbe" is Danish for "water drop." I know it's kind of a silly name, but Hans has Sitron (Norwegian for "lemon"), so I decided simple yet strange horse names are a family quirk.

2) Based on some limited historical research and some author's literary license, here are the ranks I am using for the Southern Isles' Royal Navy (from highest to lowest, excluding specialty ranks/roles [i.e.: carpenter, purser, etc.]):

Grand Admiral  
Fleet Admiral (usually shortened to just "Admiral")  
Vice-Admiral  
Rear Admiral  
Commodore  
Captain  
Commander  
Lieutenant Commander  
Lieutenant  
Acting Lieutenant  
Midshipman  
Standing Officer  
Petty Officer  
Quartermaster  
Corporal  
Able Seaman  
Ordinary Seaman  
Landsman

Back in Chapter 3, we learned that "[Hans] had taken every opportunity to leave the wretched islands, including a four-year tour with the naval forces that began shortly before he turned sixteen." With this information plus the new info from this chapter, you can get a sense of Hans' naval career. However, for trivia purposes and for my own reference, here is a more specific timeline:

\- Age 15 (early May): Entered the Royal Navy as a Midshipman [Sons of aristocratic families enter the navy at this higher rank, rather than work their way up from the very bottom.]  
\- Birthday (June 15th): Turned 16  
\- Age 16 (December): Made Acting Lieutenant  
\- Age 16 (late April): Annual review  
\- Age 16 (early May): One year anniversary, second year begins  
\- Birthday (June 15th): Turned 17  
\- Age 17 (late June): Passed an exam to become a Lieutenant [The average age for taking and passing this exam is 19.]  
\- Age 17 (early April): Annual review, promoted to Lieutenant Commander  
\- Age 17 (early May): Two year anniversary, third year begins  
\- Birthday (June 15th): Turned 18  
\- Age 18 (early March): Annual review, promoted to Commander  
\- Age 18 (early May): Three year anniversary, fourth year begins  
\- Birthday (June 15th): Turned 19  
\- Age 19 (September): Promoted to Captain  
\- Age 19 (early February): Annual review from Commodore Thulin, recommended for promotion to Commodore with training to become a Rear Admiral  
\- Age 19 (early May): Four year anniversary, fifth year begins  
\- Age 19 (mid May): Received summons home  
\- Age 19 (late May): Returned home  
\- Age 19 (early June): Received letter from Commodore Thulin  
\- Birthday (June 15th): Turned 20

3) In 1840, "boutique" was just another word for "small shop" [from the Online Etymology Dictionary: "boutique (n.): 'fashion shop,' 1953, earlier 'small shop of any sort' (1767)"].


	9. The Pier

"You're early."

The past few days had repeated the same sequence of events. Hans would be finishing his inside tasks as Damian arrived at the stable. The youngest Westergaard gave his elder brother instruction (based on his observations from the previous day) as they tacked up his horse. Both would then go outside, Hans working while Damian rode around the training yard. Hans kept an eye on his brother's riding, but the two wouldn't meet again until the following morning.

The twelfth prince was ahead of schedule today, though. Hans carried on with his labor despite his remark regarding Damian's premature arrival. "That's good. You could use the extra practice."

Damian remained in place. "I need your help."

Hans paused to glance at his brother. "I take it this is a new problem?"

Damian pressed his lips together as he nodded. "Father wants me to send telegrams to every royal family in existence, apologizing and inviting them to the anniversary ball."

"That's only a week away," Hans stated, a hint of shock in his voice. "What happened?"

"Apparently, months ago the foreign affairs minister delegated the matter to one of his staff members, who passed the responsibility on to his junior colleague, who in turn left it in the hands of a random secretary, which resulted in several of our allies not receiving formal invitations," Damian elucidated. "King Ferdinand and his family arrived early this morning, and he mentioned the lack of an invite to Father. The situation unraveled from there."

Hans smirked. "And how were you so _fortunate_ that you became involved?"

"I walked past Father's study at the wrong moment." Damian winced at the recollection.

"That'll do it," Hans snickered before taking on a more serious air. "So what exactly do you need me for?"

Damian scuffed his toe in the straw. "My political knowledge is lacking in certain areas." He pulled a pencil and paper from his coat pocket and looked at his younger brother. "Especially when it comes to names."

Hans raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that this isn't part of our deal, correct? I only agreed to instruct you on your riding."

Damian's eyes fell downward again. "Oh, right."

Hans clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "Did you forget my words so soon? You must have, otherwise you wouldn't expect me to help you while I receive nothing in return."

"So we strike another deal, then," Damian countered.

"Hm." Hans turned back to his work. "I'm listening."

"Well, I, um... I don't have any _specific_ ideas..."

Hans rolled his eyes. Damian noticed and hastily resumed his plea. "But there must be _something_ you need or want! I could even buy it for you."

A vision of the sketchbook rack in the stationary shop passed through his mind. "Perhaps," he admitted. "However, I wouldn't trust _you_ to get it for me."

"I can give you the money for it," Damian offered.

"And when would I have the opportunity buy it?" Hans scoffed. "I'm only allowed off the palace grounds for my hired assignments, and I can't leave without a sentry."

There was a moment of silence before Damian spoke again. "Liar."

Hans cast an incredulous glare at his youngest older brother. "Excuse me?"

"I have a view of both the stables and the dungeon entrance from my room. I saw you go from the barn to the stairs, then re-emerge shortly after wearing different clothes." Damian caught Hans' gaze. "And this was before I left anything in your cell."

 _That was after our first rendezvous._ Hans kept his expression neutral. He wasn't about to lose this battle of wits. "But you did not physically witness me leave the grounds, nor do you know how I acquired my additional apparel." Damian bit his lip, so Hans pressed forward. "I covertly retrieved those spare garments from various refuse areas around the city while I was out completing my work. As I told you, I can't wear them here as I don't want anyone interrogating me concerning my 'new' wardrobe. However, the attire is more than suitable for a jaunt out to the cliffs, or lounging in my _spacious_ accommodations."

Damian scrutinized the ex-prince. Hans could tell that, while Damian didn't believe him, the second-to-youngest Westergaard had no evidence for further inquisition.

"Very well." The twelfth prince conceded the point, yet did not give up the fight. "Still, let's just say, for argument's sake, that you _did_ have the ability to freely spend money on a desired item. What would the cost of that purchase be?"

"Dear brother," Hans gasped in mock astonishment, "we are speaking of a task Father hand-picked _you_ to complete. My assistance in this matter is worth far more than one paltry trinket... hypothetically speaking, of course."

Damian muttered an obscenity under his breath, then sighed in defeat. "No more games. What do you want, Hans?"

Hans casually finished raking the hay. "Full and unfettered access to your signet ring and seal."

"What?!" Damian exploded. "Absolutely not!"

"Then I guess you're on your own." Hans shrugged dismissively as he exited the stall and headed for the tool rack. His ears picked up a string of curses being grumbled behind him, which faded as Hans started to take his leave.

"One day," Damian called after him.

Hans stopped. "I get to choose which day."

"Tell me the day before, and I'll bring them to the next day's lesson," Damian confirmed.

Hans returned to his brother, planting himself a few paces away. "Agreed."

Damian quietly exhaled in relief. "Alright, let's get this done quickly," he declared. He smoothed his paper over a flat surface. "I need to send a telegram to every royal family we may have possibly invited, or missed inviting. The message has to include a presumptive apology in case they did not receive a formal invitation, an affirmation that they are more than welcome at this year's ball, and an assurance that they are invited to next year's ball as well. Who must be the recipients of such a memorandum?"

"The Maldonado house — King Ferdinand's family — should receive a remorseful letter and formal invitation personally delivered to their chambers," Hans began. "As for telegrams, you'll be sending them to the Charbonneau house of Flarand..." He continued to list more than two dozen names and countries. "The Hlavacek house of Czerai... The Dahlheimer house of Grenium..." Damian scribbled frantically. "The Navarra house of Southern Italia... The Rovero house of Sicilia—"

"The Rovero house doesn't exist anymore," Damian interrupted, not looking up from his notes. "Sicilia's a parliamentary democracy now."

Hans paused and blinked in astonishment. "When did that happen?"

Damian tapped his pencil against his chin. "Let's see... almost seven years ago, now? I was still twenty, so you would have been seventeen." He cocked his head at Hans. "I'm surprised you don't know about it. Usually you're up-to-date on those sorts of things."

"It's rather difficult to stay abreast of the latest royal gossip when you're constantly at sea." Hans didn't bother softening his sharp tone.

Damian's brow furrowed in confusion. "You were out at sea so long you missed the news of an unprecedented political turnover?"

" _I was serving in our Royal Navy_ ," Hans hissed through clenched teeth.

Damian's face slowly brightened in understanding, like a candle being lit but lethargically growing to a steady flame. " _Ohhhhh_. _That's_ why it seemed like I never bumped into you around the castle. You weren't actually there!"

It took all of Hans' willpower not to punch his brother's idiotic face. " _I was gone for_ _ **four**_ _**years**_ _!_ " he shouted.

Damian shrank away from the fury beside him. "I... I assumed you were doing a really good job of avoiding me."

"That's _exactly_ what I was doing," Hans snapped. "I enlisted as soon as Doctor Kronholm certified my health."

"I-I see," Damian mumbled. He flipped his pencil in agitation as he checked his list. "W-well, I believe I have everything I need," he squeaked, clearing his throat as he pocketed his utensils. "I'll, uh, see you tomorrow."

His brother left. However, Hans couldn't shake his heightened paranoia. If Damian had noted suspicious behavior, someone else may have as well. The disgraced prince hurried through the rest of his chores. After ensuring everything was finished, he went the long way back to his cell. He switched outfits, as was now his custom, and took a roundabout path to the secret door. Hans knew this section of wall wasn't visible from Damian's bedroom, yet he moved swiftly nonetheless. In less than a minute, he slipped through the hidden entryway into the outside world.

* * *

It seemed that it was only a matter of time before Westergaard number twelve discovered his younger brother's latest exploits. Hans wasn't certain how he would handle the confrontation, though he knew his choice depended on what Damian did with the information. Given the current situation, the most likely scenario was Damian offering his silence for a price.

Hans grit his teeth. He hated being in a vulnerable position, with someone else holding power over him. The desire to be free of others' control was a large motivation in his pursuit of kingship. _That, and wanting some recognition for once in my life..._

His glum thoughts faded as he boarded _La Stella Luminosa_.

"Good afternoon, Lars," a soft voice greeted him.

Hans turned and simultaneously dipped into a smooth bow. "The same to you, Miss Natalia."

The young woman gave a tiny giggle as she closed her book. She was seated on a small bench that rested against the exterior wall of the master cabin. "How has your day been so far?"

"Exceedingly dull and dreary," Hans moaned.

"It's too bad Leone's not here to entertain you, then," Natalia teased.

Hans grinned. "That's quite alright." He sat next to Natalia. "You're more than interesting enough for me."

Her face became as red as a beet, and Hans worried he'd been too bold. The young lady brushed off the comment with a nervous laugh. "You don't have to force yourself to compliment me. I'm well aware that I'm a plain and boring woman."

"I wholeheartedly disagree," Hans objected. Upon seeing Natalia's arms tense, he added, "But arguing about it won't do us any good."

"I suppose not." Natalia fell silent, running her thumb along the binding of her novel.

"So where's everyone else?" Hans asked, changing the subject.

"Pappa's below deck searching for an old map. Mamma and Leone are out finishing some errands."

"And in the meantime, you've started a new book," Hans observed, tapping the volume in Natalia's grip.

"Oh, yes!" Natalia replied. "Well, it's not _new_ , since I've read it before. I've just begun re-reading it."

"What's the title?" Hans inquired, despite being able to see the words on the cover.

" _The Captain's Daughter_. Have you read it?"

"I can't say that I have," Hans admitted.

"You should read it when you're done with _Hamlet_ ," Natalia encouraged. "I think you'll like it... maybe... It's somewhat of a romance story. Do you like romantic themes?"

"I've always found them intriguing," Hans replied in truth. His brothers never wanted him trailing them, even more so if they were trying to woo a lady. Thus Hans had relied almost exclusively on books to teach himself proper princely (and kingly) etiquette, particularly in the realm of interaction with the opposite sex. "What does the plot entail?"

"A Russian soldier, Pyotr, falls in love with his captain's daughter — hence the title — but his friend is in love with the woman as well. The friend defects to a rebel army, and tries to have Pyotr killed—" Her hand flew to her mouth. "I'll stop now. I wouldn't want to spoil it for you."

Hans shrugged. "I don't mind."

"No, you need to read it yourself," Natalia declared.

"Alright," Hans chuckled. "I'll submit to your authority on this matter." He leaned closer. "But, mark my words, I'll win our next dispute."

"We'll see about that," Natalia retorted, hiding her cheeky smile with the novel.

Hans' smirking grin disappeared when he heard boots alight on the deck. The pair of youths lifted their heads to see Leone standing by the gangplank.

"Hello!" Leone greeted with a wild wave. Hans mirrored the gesture, though less enthusiastically.

"Where's Mamma?" Natalia questioned.

"She sent me to get you," Leone answered. "She made an unplanned stop at the seamstress' shop and wanted you to go pick out some cloth."

"That's not necessary," Natalia mumbled. "I don't need any fabric."

Leone crossed his arms. "You know she won't accept that answer, especially not from me."

"Right," Natalia sighed. She held out her book to Hans. "Will you take care of this for me?"

"On my honor," Hans promised, flashing a playful smile as he tucked the volume under one arm and saluted with the other.

The young woman returned the expression and gesture before trotting off. Her brother's eyes followed as she disappeared down the gangplank. The white-and-brown orbs swiveled back to their guest.

"What?" Hans asked, puzzled by Leone's strange stare.

The foreigner hesitated. "You two... get along well."

Hans was having trouble pinning down Leone's emotion. _Didn't he want Natalia and I to be friends?_ "Is that a problem?"

"No, no," Leone reassured him. "I guess I'd just forgotten..." He trailed off as his gaze drifted up to the sky.

Hans' curiosity was too great for him to hold his tongue. "Forgotten what?"

Leone's attention snapped back to Hans, then promptly darted to the sea as though he couldn't bear to look at anyone. "What Natalia's like when she's truly comfortable being herself," he murmured.

Hans' mind was instantly abuzz with a hundred thoughts, but there was no chance to sort through them. Vincenzo ascended the stairs behind Leone.

"I thought I heard you," he addressed his son. "If you're done helping your mother, I need to you to take this to Brogan." Vincenzo handed Leone a rolled parchment.

"Okay, I will," Leone confirmed. "Do you want to come with me, Lars?"

"Sure," Hans replied with a nod. This would be a prime opportunity to meet Brogan and inquire about a job.

Both young men began to walk toward the gangplank, but Vincenzo delayed his son with a question. "Where's your sister?"

Hans stopped listening and descended the board. As he stepped onto the dock, a fluttering caught the corner of his eye. Natalia was standing on the end of the pier, staring at the horizon. The tails of her apron tie danced in the breeze.

"Back already?" Hans queried.

Natalia looked over her shoulder with a blank expression. "Hm?"

"From the seamstress' shop," Hans elaborated as he scanned the area. "Did your mother not return with you?"

Natalia squared herself with Hans. Her perplexed face unsettled him. "What are you talking about?"

Hans was now equally baffled. "The shop? The fabric?"

"Natalia, what are you doing?"

Hans turned back to see Leone with one foot the gangplank and one on the deck. Vincenzo was to his left, next to the rail.

Leone squinted at his sister. "Have you been standing there this whole time?"

The young woman's eyes went up to her brother, then down to her feet. "I don't remember." Her voice was almost inaudible, but everyone understood her.

Hans noticed the father and son exchange glances with one another before Vincenzo spoke. "Come up here," he gently commanded his daughter. "Let's get you to bed."

"I'm alright," Natalia protested. "I should start dinner before Mamma comes home."

" _Natalia_." Vincenzo's tone was stern, yet Hans detected notes of anguish which the elder man was doing his best to mask.

"Yes, Pappa," Natalia acquiesced, returning to the ship. Leone moved aside as his sister passed, focused only on the map in his hands.

Vincenzo tugged on the paper. "Go and fetch your mother," he ordered softly as he took the parchment. The young man nodded obediently and jumped to the dock as his father followed Natalia.

Leone didn't even acknowledge "Lars" as he started to walk toward the city. Hans jogged to catch up.

"Explain that," Hans demanded.

Leone remained silent, his eyes fixed on the cobblestones beneath his feet.

"I know you heard me." Hans' rage began to bubble. "If I'm going to be around Natalia, I need to be informed of any problems with her health, so I'll know how to handle the situation should it arise again."

Leone only quickened his pace.

The simmer broke into a boil. Hans grabbed Leone's arm and yanked him to a halt. **"** **Don't ignore me!"** A simultaneous, spontaneous thought flashed in his mind. _Don't act like my brothers!_

Leone gawked at Hans' menacing glower.

"Lars," he breathed after a few seconds, "my arm."

Hans snapped out of his furious haze and released the man's tricep from his iron grasp.

"Sorry," he muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets and kicking a pebble.

"I'm sorry too," Leone apologized, rubbing his new sore spot. "You're right. You shouldn't be kept in the dark."

Leone resumed his mission, motioning for Hans to follow. Hans fell in-step alongside him.

"Natalia suffered a head injury several years ago. Ever since then, she randomly falls into a hypnotic state, during which she just stares at nothing." Leone massaged his arm as they walked. "The trance is easily broken — by someone speaking to her or some other noise — but she almost always forgets what she was doing before it happened. These spells are usually followed by migraines, which is why Pappa sent her to bed."

"Are there any warning signs?" Hans questioned.

Leone shook his head. "No, and there's no discernable pattern as to when they occur, nor any specific events that start an episode."

"That's awfully dangerous," Hans mused. "If you can't predict them, you can't leave her alone."

"We try not to," Leone affirmed, "especially with cooking. However, her spells happen less frequently nowadays. Plus, it's not like she wanders aimlessly and forgets her own name when she 'wakes up.' She just stands still and stares, and then can't remember the previous half-hour, at most."

"Regardless," Hans chided, "when you combine that with her lack of stamina, she shouldn't be doing half of the things she does."

"In our defense, some of that is her own stubbornness," Leone grumbled. He sighed before continuing. "And some of that is necessity. It's a lot harder to run a ship and maintain a household if one person out of four isn't allowed to do _anything_. Also, it's not fair to Natalia if we were to treat her like an invalid because of her condition. She already struggles with feeling useless because she isn't as strong as the rest of us. Limiting her too much will simply have the opposite effect."

"I'll grant you that," Hans conceded, "but if I'd known any of this, I would have _insisted_ on accompanying her to the seamstress' shop."

Leone flinched at the implication of the sentence. "I wasn't thinking," he murmured. He folded his arms over his chest. "I'm a horrible big brother."

Leone's voice cracked, and Hans realized what the mystery emotion had been. _Guilt._

"It was your fault, wasn't it?"

Leone's head jerked to face Hans. "What?"

"Natalia's injury," Hans specified, "as well as her skittishness around everyone." He recalled the conversation where Natalia mentioned being teased when she was younger. If Leone was the main culprit, that would explain why she barely spoke to her own family, let alone strangers. "You've been acting odd today, and I only now made the connection. You feel guilty."

Leone stopped dead, staring wide-eyed at his friend. It suddenly occurred to Hans that exposing secrets was not the wisest tactic for interacting with someone you were attempting to butter up for your own gain.

"Never mind," Hans contradicted himself, "forget what I said—"

"You're right again," Leone interrupted in a whisper. He gave Hans a strained smile. "I suppose it was rather obvious."

"Even so, it's none of my business," Hans countered. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

Leone tilted his head up, avoiding eye contact. "I've made a lot of mistakes. I expected you to find out eventually... just not this soon." He hung his head and closed his eyes. "I know my family has forgiven me, but I'm so ashamed of my past... I'm not ready to discuss it with anyone."

"I understand," Hans assured him. _He_ certainly didn't want to discuss his past either, albeit for less virtuous reasons.

Leone gave Hans a weak yet grateful smile. "Thank you."

Hans smiled in return. "Shouldn't we get going?" he asked. "I'm sure your mother's worried by now."

"Oh no!" Leone exclaimed in comedic horror before dashing down the street in a panic. Hans chuckled to himself as he chased after him.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** _The Captain's Daughter_ was a Russian story published in 1836, and as far as I can tell wasn't translated into English until 1917. However, since this is a Disney-verse fanfiction, we're going to pretend the novel was published in English to begin with, or was translated to English shortly after its initial release.


	10. The Festival

The week passed with no upsets to the ex-prince's new _status quo_. He instructed his brother, visited his benefactors, and kept a low profile during his travels.

The day's agenda complete, Hans arrived at _La Stella Luminosa_ around three in the afternoon. Seeing no one on deck, he poked his head through the open doorway of the master cabin.

"Lars!"

Hans was snagged in a one-armed headlock, Leone's other arm attacking him with a noogie.

"Why didn't you tell me there was a festival today?!"

Hans pried himself from Leone's grasp and began to tame his now-unruly hair. "I assumed you were already aware," he stated with an edge of annoyance.

"No, I wasn't! Nobody tells me anything!" Leone complained.

Hans approached the mirrored dresser in the far corner. "Even so, why did your lack of information require an assault on my person?"

"I'd hardly call that an 'assault,'" Leone retorted, sticking his tongue out.

Hans shot Leone a miffed glare. "Then what _would_ you call it?"

Leone grinned in response. "A friendly wrangle."

Satisfied with his re-groomed appearance, Hans faced Leone. "If that's how you treat your friends, I'd hate to see how you deal with your enemies," he joked.

Leone's breath seemed to hitch for a second, but the oddity was overshadowed by his flailing arms. "We should get there early!" he declared, gesturing toward the door.

"Why? Nothing's ready yet," Hans countered. "We'd simply be standing around until the festival starts."

"We can scope out the booths and decide what we're going to do first!" Leone bounced on his heels, ready to take off at any moment.

Hans sighed, weighing his options. Arriving at the marketplace early could result in him being recognized. There wouldn't be much of a crowd yet, so he'd be more visible to wandering eyes. On the other hand, most people would be preoccupied with the preparations, regardless of whether they were assisting or observing. _I should be fine, as long as I don't draw attention to myself._

"Alright," Hans conceded.

"Yes!" Leone shouted. He vigorously ruffled Hans' hair with both hands. "This'll be great!"

Hans was about to throw his assailant to the floor, but Leone must have sensed the pernicious intent. He scampered out of Hans' reach just in time. "I'll go get Natalia!" With that, he disappeared.

The former royal growled as he returned to mirror. _Somehow, I know I'm going to regret this._

* * *

Even though Leone interrogated every vendor about their booth, no one appeared to mind the questions. Most were eager to advertise whatever they were preparing. Natalia and Hans trailed behind, ready to rein-in Leone's antics if necessary. Mercifully, he kept himself relatively in check. Despite Hans' initial misgivings, the start of the festival arrived with no incidents.

 _ **BOOM!**_

"This year's Anniversary Festival has officially begun!" the event organizer announced from his podium. The humming chatter of the crowd turned into a roar.

"Why'd they set off a cannon?" Leone queried of the auburn-haired native.

"It marks the start of the final battle fought by Bernard the First," Hans exposited. "When the battle ended, a treaty was signed that put all twelve isles under Bernard's rule. Twelve cannon shots mark the moments immediately following the signing, when Bernard was declared king of the newly-united Southern Isles. The festival draws to a close after the twelfth cannon."

"Isn't that dangerous?" Natalia murmured to herself.

"They're blank charges," Hans informed her, perceiving the young lady's quandary to be in reference to the cannon fire, "not real cannonballs."

Natalia had been taken aback when Hans first addressed her question, undoubtedly surprised someone was actually listening. However, she nodded understandingly at the end. "That makes sense," she acknowledged.

The trio perused the booths. Even though they had already browsed through once before, it was a different environment with the event in full swing.

"What booth do you think your parents are at?" Hans asked.

"Oh, they said they were going to the town square," Natalia replied. "They'll probably be there all night. Right, Leone?"

Her brother wasn't listening. He bobbed left and right, as though he were trying to look at everything at once.

"Stop that," Hans commanded. "You're making me dizzy."

Leone whirled around, a huge grin on his face. "So what should we do first?"

Hans groaned. "I thought the whole point of arriving early was for you to figure that out."

"But I can't decide!" Leone whined. "You pick, Lars!"

"Me?" Hans questioned without forethought. As a thirteenth child, he couldn't recall a time when he'd had first choice in _anything_. "I, um... I think Natalia should select our inaugural activity."

Leone shot Hans a baffled grimace and Natalia gasped in horror.

"I can't possibly decide! There's far too many choices! What if I pick something awful? What if it's a waste of money? What if I—"

"Calm down, Natalia!" Hans exclaimed, clasping her hands. "It's alright, you don't have to choose."

Natalia caught her breath and Hans' stare simultaneously. She instantly cast her eyes downward. "I'm sorry."

"I know, I know!" Leone bounced between the two. "Let's get apple fritters!"

"O-okay," Natalia agreed, dropping her hands out of Hans' hold.

"Good idea," Hans concurred, "but does anyone remember where that booth _is_?"

"Hm." Leone stood on his tiptoes and swiveled his neck, his head arcing across its full rotation several times.

"You look like an owl," Hans snickered.

Natalia snorted. Leone looked over his shoulder with a goofy smile.

"My _keen eyesight_ has spotted the fritter booth down that way. But there's quite a line, so I'll just swoop in and save us a spot!" He put his fists on his sides and "flapped" his arms. "I should take the coin purse, just in case it's my turn before you two get there. Now, if my dearest sister would relinquish my prey, I won't have to attack her with my talons." He formed claws with his hands and silently threatened to tickle her.

Natalia, however, was already in hysterics. She retrieved the pouch and held it out, her body convulsing with giggles.

Leone snatched the bag from her hand. "Thanks!" He dashed away. "Hoot hoot!"

Hans merely shook his head, turning his focus to Natalia as she recovered from her laughing fit.

She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief before looking up at Hans with a smile. "We'd better go after him. He might crash into something... or some _one_."

Hans chuckled. "True. He's not a very wise owl. He could easily get distracted by a shiny bauble."

Natalia's laugh was lost in the surrounding clamor.

The pair followed as best they could through the dense throng. Hans became something of a ship's bow — "parting" the sea of bodies and leaving a thin clearing in his wake for Natalia to trail after him.

"Leone must be a good distance ahead," Hans speculated. He smirked as a bit of whimsy came to mind. "Perhaps if we pretend to be hawks, we can catch up."

There was silence from his companion. _Hm. I expected a titter, at least._ Hans looked behind him, but saw only strangers.

He frowned as he faced the opposite direction. "Natalia?"

No answer.

He spun in a circle, but no one stood out. His stomach twisted while his heart sank.

 _Oh no._

* * *

 _Those are pretty._

She'd caught sight of a display featuring small stained glass windows. The booth was lit with several lanterns, and the multi-colored panes sparkled in the crossing beams. There were a host of wind chimes reverberating in the breeze. Some were strictly metal, others had decorative glass strung throughout.

 _Wouldn't the glass beads break if the metal chimes knock against them too much? Then again, maybe not... or maybe the ensemble is built in such a way where that doesn't happen. The stained glass looks like it would break if you so much as brush against it. I wonder how the craftsman puts such delicate pieces together—_

Someone bumped into her from behind, and she stumbled forward.

"Don't just stand in the middle of the walkway!" the offending man berated as the young woman pivoted to face him. "Either keep moving or pick a side!"

"Sorry!" Natalia squeaked. She darted away, hustling to the edge of the lane, where she planted herself in the narrow gap between the glass booth and its neighbor selling wicker wares.

 _Why am I here?_

The woman closed her eyes. She recalled arriving at the marketplace well before the festival began, walking around with Leone and Lars, and...

Her memories faded there.

 _Was I waiting for them, or did we get separated? Should I go back to that spot, or is it best I stay here?_

Natalia desperately scanned the crowd, but saw no one familiar in the ocean of faces. Everything blurred together, and she grasped a tent pole for support. There were so many lanterns that it was bright as day in spite of the darkened sky. It hurt to have her eyes open for too long, and the vociferous throng only worsened the throb between her ears.

 _I need to get back home._

"Excuse me, miss?"

Her head snapped up, and she immediately wished she could have repressed the reflex. A sharp pain shot through her temple, and her left hand flew to her head as her knees buckled.

"Are you alright?!"

A pair of hands now gripped her shoulders. She cracked her eyelids and peered through the gaps between her fingers. A blonde-haired, blue-eyed young man stood in front of her.

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes," Natalia finally replied, managing to straighten herself. "Thank you for your concern. I've just gotten a bit turned around, is all." She smiled. "If you would point me in the direction of the harbor, I'd greatly appreciate it."

The man frowned. "I could, but I'm not going to let you wander around by yourself."

"I'm not 'wandering' if I know where I'm going," Natalia contradicted.

"Here's what we'll do," the blonde announced, seemingly failing to hear the woman's soft voice. "I'll lead you to the harbor, accompanying you until you find someone you know, okay?"

Natalia hesitated. She certainly wanted to leave the marketplace, but balked at going anywhere with a stranger. "I'm not entirely comfortable with that—"

"I'm Pierre Mercier," he interjected. "My father, Aldric, is an established businessman in this city. You couldn't be in better hands."

 _Hands..._ She was reminded of his continued hold on her shoulders. "That's a very generous offer—" she slipped past him, "—but I don't wish to trouble you. Have a good night." She entered the mob of bodies once more.

It was slow-going, and she had only advanced a few paces when she felt a tug on her sleeve.

"It's no trouble at all," Pierre insisted. "Besides, the harbor's that way." He jerked his thumb in the opposite direction.

Natalia pictured the area as it was before it became packed with people, mentally retracing the route from the wharf to the market. _He's right._ "My mistake," she admitted.

Pierre extended his arm expectantly. Natalia placed her palm just above the elbow joint, careful to keep everything else at a reasonable distance. She honestly didn't want to touch him at all, but she couldn't risk losing her guide. The pain in her head was worsening by the minute. _As soon as we're out of the crowd, I'll bid him goodbye. I'm sure I can find my way home from there._

He partially folded his arm around her hand and started walking. She trailed a step behind.

"You never told me your name," Pierre pointed out, weaving between obstacles.

"Natalia," the brunette replied with a wince. It was increasingly difficult to keep her eyes open. She rubbed her face with her free hand. _I have to stay alert until I get home._

"Natalia," Pierre repeated. "That's a common name in Italia and Sicilia, isn't it?"

"Um, I don't know," the young woman answered. _I don't think I've met any other 'Natalias'... but I haven't exactly met a lot of people, either._

She strained to see how close they were to the harbor side of the market, but the hectic atmosphere overwhelmed her senses. She hung her head once more.

"I'll ensure you make it home," Pierre reassured his companion.

"No, once we leave here I can manage on my own," Natalia contested.

Pierre smiled. "We'll see."

Natalia couldn't decide if the man's persistence was admirable or annoying. Although she was grateful for his help, she was also apprehensive at the prospect of being alone with a stranger. Once they left the marketplace, bystanders would become increasingly scarce. _There may not be anyone in the harbor at all. Showing him where I live doesn't seem like a good idea. True, he's most likely to drop me off and be on his way... but what if that isn't the case? What if he takes advantage of my condition to burglarize the ship... or... other..._ _ **unscrupulous**_ _things?_

She studied her chaperon out of the corner of her eye. _I should be able to give a description of him, just in case._ His short hair was the color of sand, and his irises were a dull gray-blue. _How would I describe his nose? It's not flat, but it's nowhere near as angular as Lars'..._

Pierre glanced over and noticed Natalia's pensiveness. "See something you like?" he snickered.

"No." Her response was instantaneous and perplexed.

The young man gave a short, low whistle. "Ouch. You must be the direct type."

Only then did Natalia understand the insinuation of his question. She redirected her gaze at the ground, ears burning. "I'm sorry."

Pierre laughed. "It's okay. I was just making conversation."

Natalia flashed a weak smile and returned to concentrating on her movement. _That must have been punishment for fearing the worst from someone who is only helping me. If Leone were escorting a lady home, I wouldn't want her to think such horrible things about_ _ **him**_ _. Forgive me, Father. Please let this be over soon._

As though in answer to her prayer, she sensed the pressure surrounding her dissipate. The light and noise emanated from behind, instead of enveloping her. They were out.

Natalia pulled away from Pierre and gave a quick curtsy. "Thank you for your help."

Pierre frowned. "I told you I'd see you home, didn't I?"

"No, no, it's quite alright—"

" _ **Natalia!**_ "

Natalia turned to the familiar voice with an excited gasp. "Lars!"

The named man emerged from the sea of festival attendees. He appeared to be as relieved as she herself felt. She trotted toward him as he rushed to her.

"Leone and I have been looking everywhere for you!" he exclaimed. His cheeks were pink and he was somewhat out-of-breath.

"I'm so sorry!" she apologized. "I got distracted, and then you were gone, and I..." Tears welled up as she lowered her head. "I need to go home," she finished in a whisper.

"Of course," Lars complied, gently linking his arm through hers. "Let's go."

Natalia placed her other hand on Lars' raised forearm and smiled. A cough drew her attention. Pierre was still standing where she'd left him.

"Oh!" Natalia internally chastised herself for such a lapse in manners. Another part of her reasoned that this particular occurrence was excusable, given the circumstances. However, it was still best to be polite. "Pierre, this is my friend Lars. Lars, this is Pierre. He escorted me from the market."

Lars dipped slightly in a stiff bow. "Thank you for assisting Natalia."

"Not a problem," Pierre replied, looking the pair up and down. "Though I'd feel better seeing her home myself."

Natalia reflexively tightened her grip on Lars' arm. She thought he leaned closer, but perhaps she imagined it.

"I'm quite sure we'll be fine," Lars responded.

Pierre seemed unconvinced and opened his mouth to retort.

"Pierre!" A fair-haired man exited the crowd. "There are you are. I thought you were only leaving for a minute."

"My chum, Ulrik," Pierre explained before facing his friend. "I was busy," he announced without apology. "You know me."

Ulrik's eyes rolled to Natalia's form peeking out from behind Lars. The towhead's focus returned to Pierre. "I do, but it looks like you're done here, so let's go."

Pierre shot a glare at his pal. "Right," he grumbled under his breath. However, he gave Natalia a smile. "Until we meet again." The pair retreated, melting into the multitudes.

Natalia instantly began moving in the opposite direction. Lars followed suit.

* * *

The pair walked in silence, the noise growing dimmer with each step. Natalia clung to Hans with one arm while massaging her forehead with her free hand.

Hans reviewed the preceding events. He'd been lucky to spot Natalia when he did. _Who knows what that Pierre would have done._ Hans instinctively suspected the motives of Natalia's savior, and his mistrust had proved justified. First, the blonde had definitely been upset that "Lars" had found them — or, rather, _interrupted_ them. Then, when Natalia's actions made it clear that she would be leaving with her friend, the newcomer was brash enough to keep pressing the issue. _I have no doubt he had some manner of_ _ **lascivious**_ _intentions._

Ulrik's reaction to the scene only cemented this theory. It was as though he was used to his chum's womanizing ways and perceived that intervention was needed. _And then there's Ulrik himself..._ His face had struck Hans as vaguely familiar, but the redhead couldn't place it. _If I knew him personally, I would remember him._ It was rare for adults to have such light hair, since the color usually darkened as a child aged. Hans sifted through his memories, hoping to uncover a clue. Yet the more he immersed himself in thought, the more muddled everything became. _I must have seen him in passing around the city. That's the only explanation._ Still, Hans didn't find his conclusion satisfactory. The whole situation left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Where's Leone?"

Hans' gaze darted to the woman beside him. Her hand was still on her head, but her face was creased with more worry than pain.

"He's still at the marketplace," Hans answered. "When I realized you were missing, I went to the fritter booth and informed him. We agreed to search the area for you, and meet at the ship after the festival ends."

"So if one of you found me, we'd already be there," Natalia mused, "and if neither of you found me, you'd regroup and start again."

"Precisely." He was impressed that her intellect was still sharp in spite of her migraine.

"I'm sorry," she apologized once again.

"It's not your fault," Hans countered. "You can't help when your spells happen. If anything, I should have been keeping a closer watch on you."

"But I should know better than to let myself get distracted." Her head drooped, and the weight on his arm increased.

"Never mind that, we're almost there," he heartened her.

True to his word, they had just come into sight of _La Stella Luminosa_ , albeit it was still a good way off. Its assigned dock was at the end of the wharf, so the pair needed to traverse the pier to reach their destination. Natalia's lethargic pace made for a sluggish trek. Thankfully, the harbor was deserted, so their trudging along wasn't bothersome to anyone.

With the lack of citizens and the clamor of the festival out of range, the music from the town square wafted through the air and settled over the harbor. It was a lively folk tune, and Hans pictured the pairs of townspeople prancing around to the beat.

"Pappa and Mamma are probably still there," Natalia mumbled, more to herself than Hans. "I'm sure they'll dance until the last song ends."

"I presume they don't get many opportunities to enjoy an evening to themselves," Hans stated. "Though I suppose the same could be said of any family."

A quiet but noticeable exhale was the only response elicited from Natalia. Hans bit his lip. _Perhaps it's best to keep any further thoughts on that topic to myself._

"Are you able to walk up the gangplank?" Hans queried as they approached the vessel.

Natalia eyed the board warily. "Yes?"

Hans chuckled. "That sounded more like a question than an answer."

"Yes," Natalia repeated, attempting to sound confident. She took a step onto the plank. "But you should probably stay right behind me, just in case."

"Of course," Hans agreed, smirking at the lady's teetering balance.

He followed Natalia up the gangplank. She wobbled, but didn't fall. The young woman breathed a sigh of relief as she alighted on the deck.

Hans walked to the far cabin and turned the handle. The door was locked.

He looked at Natalia as she reached into a dress pocket. Her eyes widened in horror.

"I lost it!" she gasped.

"Lost what?"

"My coin purse! The key was inside!" She was near tears.

"You didn't lose it. Leone has it." Hans corrected. _She must have forgotten._

"Oh." Natalia inhaled deeply to calm herself. "I suppose there's nothing to do but wait, then." She tottered to the bench and shakily lowered herself to the seat.

Sitting around wasn't a much of a solution to this predicament, but Hans couldn't think of a viable alternative. He possessed no tool to attempt picking a lock, and kicking in a door would result in a repair this family couldn't afford. Leaving the girl certainly wasn't an option, nor was there anywhere else she could find respite. Waiting was indeed their only choice.

Hans joined Natalia, though there was no indication she noticed. She was supporting her elbows with her knees and her head with her palms. Every breath was intentionally slow and controlled. _She's really not doing well._

Hans propped his chin up with his fist as he continued to watch her. _Should I offer her my shoulder? Put my arm around her? She might be able to relax if I support her... or she might become so uncomfortable that she feels even worse._

He thinned his lips at the quandary. The distant song came to an abrupt end, drawing his attention away from his own thoughts. Hans jolted upright. _That's it!_ If Natalia was unable to rest, then she needed something to take her mind off her pain.

The notes of a slow ballad drifted to the ship. _Perfect._ He sprang to his feet, standing in front of the young woman with his right hand extended. "May I have this dance?"

She raised her head, blinking in confusion. "What?"

His smile widened. "May I please have this dance, Miss Natalia?"

She was flabbergasted. "You want to dance? Here? Now? That's crazy!"

"Didn't you know? I love crazy." With that, he pulled Natalia to her feet.

"Lars!" she protested as he began to step in time with the music. "I can't dance on a _good_ day, much less—"

"There's no use arguing," Hans interrupted. "I warned you in advance that I would win our next dispute."

"True, but I didn't agree to that," Natalia muttered.

"Shh," Hans shushed her, a playful grin spread from ear to ear. "Just follow my lead. You'll be fine."

He tugged her forward, sideways, and backward. Her resistance faded a little with each movement.

"That's it," he encouraged. "See? I told you."

"Hush," she ordered, barely restraining the upward curve of her lips.

He felt her remaining tension slip away. They were perfectly synchronized with the music and each other. He spun her out, then back to himself, and she giggled as she returned to his arms.

 _Kiss her._

He went off-rhythm, but recovered with his next step. If Natalia noticed, she didn't say anything.

 _Of course she wouldn't. She isn't like your brothers, who point out each and every minuscule flaw at any opportunity._

Hans smiled to keep himself from glowering.

 _My brothers..._

He'd seen enough of his siblings' exploits with women to conclude that seduction was for those too inept to dominate with their mind. Any fool could manipulate emotions when there was copulation involved. Only a true genius relied on wit alone. Plus, physical contact lowered defenses, thus exposing one to attack from the partner and/or a third party (not to mention the other risks associated with such salacious acts). Propriety was simply the best strategy.

The pair glided around the deck, their tempo increasing with the crescendo. This was no ballroom, however, and Natalia tripped over the hinge on the closed hatchway.

"Eep!"

Hans tightened his grip and yanked her closer to steady her. The minor bungle ended with the pair just a few centimeters apartment.

 _Kiss her._

"You're much better than you give yourself credit for," Hans complimented, impressed by how quickly she'd regained her balance (and ignoring the repeated mental command).

"Ah, well, my grandparents insisted on lessons when we were young. I guess I remember the training better than I thought," Natalia deflected.

"Your grandparents wanted you to learn ballroom dancing?" That seemed odd for such a humble family.

"They wanted Leone and I educated in everything, including all the arts," Natalia expounded. "Dancing, painting, sculpture, writing, instruments, singing... We had busy childhoods."

"I can relate," Hans chuckled. Life had often felt like one long, never-ending tutoring session. Though, unlike Natalia's relatives, the Westergaards valued the history and culture of the arts over actual performance of them. Thus the application of the lessons had been limited to dancing and letter-writing.

He glanced down at her. To his surprise, she was staring up at him, but shifted her gaze when their eyes met.

"Don't look away," Hans entreated.

Her eyes stayed downcast. "Why?"

He hesitated. _'_ _Because I want to know that you trust me' would only cause scrutinization of my motives._

"Because I want you to feel comfortable being yourself when we're together," he answered as they continued on their swaying path across the deck.

She looked at him, but quickly focused her sight over his shoulder. "I am, and I believe it's rude to stare at people."

"If you say so," Hans acquiesced. "In that case, though, you ought to be rude to me more often."

Her eyes returned to his with a start. He struggled to keep a straight face as she searched his countenance, presumably for evidence that he was teasing her. Unable to find a chink in the façade, she shook her head with a laugh.

 _Kiss her._

The intrusive directive was becoming a nuisance. Hans hadn't included osculation in his calculations, and he wanted to avoid it. _I absolutely won't consider it unless it's one-hundred-percent necessary._

Dancing occupied his attention again, and he locked eyes with his partner once more. Natalia's soft smile immediately brightened, her gaze fixed solely on him now. He mirrored the expression, which caused her grin to broaden. Hans had never placed much importance on physical appearance (especially given his own average traits), but he supposed any fair-minded man would consider her beautiful.

 _Kiss her._

He silently cursed whatever part of his brain was responsible for the nagging thought. Didn't it know what the rest of him knew? Even if he didn't have his own reservations regarding physical contact, he would still refrain from such an impulsive act. He couldn't act too affectionate, lest Natalia pull away.

 _ **Oh!**_

That was it! She _wasn't_ pulling away. She'd had ample opportunity to distance herself after her slip, and she hadn't. Instead, she was staring at him, radiating happiness. Even if she wasn't "in love" with "Lars," she was certainly content with him.

 _Kiss her._

Considering this new revelation, he quickly devised a procedure for each possible outcome. A positive reaction would further strengthen his original plan, and in fact likely complete the goal. A negative reaction could be softened with compliments, explanations of being swept up in the moment, and apologies. Coupled with a brief recollection of what occurred the last time he chose not to kiss a woman, Hans flipped his decisiveness and resolved to commit the act at the end of the ballad.

He wouldn't have to wait long. His royal experience told him the song was almost over. The pair slowed their pace as the final notes played.

"Natalia," he whispered.

"Yes?" she breathed.

"I'm very glad that I met you."

He leaned forward as the music faded behind him.

 _ **BOOM!**_

Natalia yelped and grabbed Hans as he jumped and clutched her protectively. He could feel both their hearts beating wildly as he gulped air between pants. The recognition of the explosion as cannon fire didn't do much to calm his nerves.

Natalia covered her ears as the second shot echoed across the wharf. The cannons were stationed on cliffs near the harbor, and the sound was much more jarring at such close proximity. Hans realized Natalia was trembling, so he scooped her up and carried her to the bench. Tears began to run down her cheeks on the third shot.

"It's alright, it's alright," he murmured soothingly. Natalia hunched over, cowering like a terrified child, and pressed her head into Hans' chest. She flinched as the fourth shot sounded, and Hans finally understood why. _Her migraine._ The unexpected cannon fire must have brought it back in full force, and each successive sound only made it worse.

Hans held her tightly and counted off the rest of the shots aloud.

"Five... Six... Seven... Eight... Nine... Ten... Eleven... Twelve. That's it. It's over."

Natalia didn't respond. Hans leaned back to get a better view. She had passed out at some point, and now lay against him completely unconscious.

Hans sighed.

 _So much for that idea._


	11. The Trap

She blinked, and the printed words crisped from the blurred blotch. Natalia sighed as her eyes wandered back to the first sentence. This was her fourth attempt at reading the page. _Or is it my fifth?_ She groaned in disgust and set the book on the trunk next to her bed.

She'd awoken late that morning, still in her clothes from the previous night. After changing, she opened the cabin door to find her mother on the deck washing laundry. Intending to help, Natalia had approached the washtub, only to be ordered back into the cabin by her mother. _I must've heard 'You need to rest!' and 'Don't you dare leave that room again!' half-a-dozen times._

The young woman spent the day attempting to make progress on her current drawing, sewing, and reading endeavors. However, she found she couldn't focus on any of her hobbies. Her attention continually drifted back to yesterday's events.

Natalia drew her knees to her chest. Her memory lapse and the resulting chaos had certainly taken a toll on her nerves. Still, this instance wasn't nearly as bad as the other occasions where her spells resulted in serious ramifications. There was only one explanation.

 _Lars._

The evening repeated itself over and over in her mind, interspersed with dozens of unanswered questions. She retrieved her sewing project and tried to busy herself once more.

A knock on the door startled her, and she pricked her finger with the needle.

"Come in!" she called as she pressed the tiny wound against her handkerchief.

Lars poked his head inside. "Good afternoon. Are you able to entertain a visitor?"

"Yes! Please, come in!" Natalia scooted off her bed to greet her guest.

"Don't get up for my sake," Lars insisted, entering. "I'm sure you're tired." He left the door slightly ajar as he removed his short boots.

"No, no, I'm fine!" Natalia assured him. "Mamma just forced me to stay inside today."

Lars chuckled. "So I gathered." He studied the young woman for a moment. "You _do_ look well-rested. I'm glad."

 _'I'm very glad that I met you.'_

Natalia felt heat rise in her face. "Any special reason you've come to call today?" she inquired, clasping her hands behind her back.

"First and foremost, to check on your health," Lars replied. "Second—" he removed a sack from his shoulder, "—I need your help with something, if you're up to the challenge."

"Of course!" She grinned, though there was a nudge of disappointment in the back of her mind.

Lars returned the smile, then sat on the floor and opened his bag. Natalia tilted forward for a better look. The sack contained two pairs of boots, which Lars removed and put on the hardwood. One set was tall, the ones he'd been wearing the night they met. The other set looked to be mid-calf in height. As she examined the footwear, Lars withdrew a dagger from the bottom of the bag.

He froze at Natalia's gasp, and fumbled for an explanation. "No— I'm— It's—"

"Did Leone give that to you?" she interjected.

Lars' petrification melted into relief. "Yes, he did." His lips suddenly dipped to a frown. "That's not a problem, is it?"

Natalia shook her head. "No, I was just curious if it was him or Pappa."

"Leone said it was his," Lars stated. "Why would think your father gave it to me?"

"Well, it is — _was_ — Leone's, but before that it was Pappa's, and before that it was _his_ father's, our grandfather's," Natalia elucidated.

"I wouldn't have accepted it if I'd known it was a family heirloom," Lars grumbled.

"It's alright," Natalia reassured him. "Leone gave it to you, so it's yours now. Besides, it's been in storage since..." She paused. _Best not be specific._ "... Some time ago."

Lars shot her a perplexed glance. Natalia ignored it.

"Do your boots need mending?" She sat down opposite Lars.

"No," Lars answered. "I wanted to see if it was possible to sew sheaths for the dagger into the lining."

"I should be able to do it." She picked up one of the riding boots. "Do you have a preference as to which side?"

"All of them."

Natalia raised her eyebrows.

"I don't know which side will be most comfortable, so I'd rather do them all at once instead of switching it later," Lars expounded.

"I see," Natalia murmured. "In that case, I'll probably only finish one pair today." She opened her trunk.

Lars knelt beside her. "If you teach me to sew, I can work on the second pair."

"I don't know if I'll be a good teacher," Natalia muttered, pulling supplies from the chest.

Lars took the items from her hands. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

Natalia flashed a grateful smile and retrieved her abandoned work-in-progress. "Alright. I'll demonstrate a few stitches for you, and then you can try." She plopped down next to Lars.

Lars leaned closer for a clear view. "I await your instruction."

* * *

Lars was a fast learner, and the two were soon engrossed in completing his request.

Unfortunately, sewing was a mindless task for Natalia, and her thoughts once again returned to the previous evening.

 _I should ask him._

She raised her eyes. Lars was hunched over, preoccupied with his work. She cast her gaze downward again.

 _Leave him alone, he's concentrating._

Despite her internal protests, she snuck another peek at her companion. This time, he was staring at her.

"Did I make a mistake?" he questioned, his hand paused mid-stitch.

"No, no!" Natalia squeaked. "You're doing marvelous!"

"Thank you." Lars set the boot aside. "Now, out with it."

Natalia blinked in confusion. "What?"

"I can sense that something's bothering you," the young man asserted.

Natalia considered denying Lars' suspicion. _No, it won't work. I'm sure 'yes' is written all over my face._

Lars touched her hand. "Come on. Tell me."

She drew a deep breath. "Last night, just before the cannon went off, were you going to... say something else?"

 _I can't do it._ She didn't have it in her. No matter how much she'd prepared, she couldn't utter her true question. _'Were you going to kiss me?'_ There were too many variables. _I've never been kissed before, so it's likely I completely misread the situation. Even if I didn't, I'm sure he just got caught up in the excitement of the festival. Except that he isn't impulsive... but the dance was spontaneous. Or_ _ **was**_ _it? Argh!_

The seconds dragged on as though they were days. After what felt like ages, Lars finally spoke.

"I can't recall anything specific," he replied.

"O-oh." She was relieved, yet simultaneously disheartened.

Lars cocked his head at her. "Was that all?"

Natalia flushed. "I, um..." _It would be too embarrassing if I'm wrong._ "I just wanted to say _I'm_ very glad that I met _you_."

"Really?" His ears turned pink as he looked away.

"Absolutely!" She was confident in that much, at least.

Lars eyes were transfixed on his hands. "Why?"

"Well, you're kind," Natalia began, "helpful, understanding, and polite. You work hard without complaint. You have a good sense of humor, but you also know when to be serious. You're fun to be around, and..." She trailed off as she considered the exact phrase she wanted. "And, even though we haven't known each other very long, you're the best friend I've ever had."

Lars' head snapped up, staring wide-eyed at her. Natalia had no doubt her face was red as a beet. She grew increasingly tense at the prolonged silence.

Wordlessly, Lars resumed his work on his boot. Natalia began to tremble, terrified that she had upset him somehow.

He glanced up. "I'm sorry," he apologized, briefly meeting her gaze. "No one has ever said such a thing to me before." He returned his attention to the needle. "I'm not sure how to respond."

"That's alright!" she exclaimed, rapidly waving her forearms back-and-forth in tiny arcs. "You don't have to reciprocate the sentiment!"

Lars arched a brow as he shot a glance in her direction.

"I mean it!" Natalia insisted. "Whatever you decide, whenever you decide it, I'll understand."

Lars gave a small nod as he made another stitch. Natalia fiddled with her own project as she rehearsed her next words.

"In the meantime," she added, "I want to make sure you know that you can talk to me about anything — anything at all — and I'll listen to you. I won't make fun of you, or put you down, or push you away. I'll do whatever I can to help you. I promise."

Lars flinched with a noticeable jerk. Natalia gasped in worry, but then sighed in relief as Lars shook his hand out before sticking the tip of his thumb in his mouth.

"This is dangerous," Lars commented, nursing his injury. "You must be highly skilled at this, to not have your fingers constantly covered in bandages."

Natalia giggled. "Well, I have far more practice than you... though I did manage to stick myself earlier." She purposely neglected to mention the exact timing of the accident. _No need to make him feel guilty._ "Honestly, only one prick during your first sewing lesson is outstanding."

Lars chuckled. "I suppose so."

"What's going on in here?"

The pair looked up to see Leone's upper body sticking through the gap in the door.

"Sewing lesson," they replied simultaneously.

Leone smirked. "I see. You'll have to take a break, though. Dinner's ready."

He popped back out to the exterior of the cabin, disappearing from view.

There was a shared laugh as the two rose to follow.

* * *

 _That went better than expected._

Given last night's ending point, Hans had been unsure of the reception he'd receive from Natalia. _I needn't have worried._ She was all smiles, as usual. _Except..._ She certainly suspected something had been out-of-the-ordinary about the end of their dance. However, she was too timid to confront him directly. Still, the conversation allowed Hans to gauge his progress in his overall plan. _I'm close._

Granted, the "best friend" admission had thrown him a bit, but it worked to his advantage all the same. He just needed to wait a day or two, then seal the deal. _Something like, 'I am honored to be your friend, and if that's how you always see me, I will happily accept my place. But if you would perhaps consider the possibility of something_ _ **more**_ _between us, I believe it's a path worth exploring.'_

He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he walked.

 _On second thought, that might be too much._

He sighed, glancing to the sky.

 _It's late._

The moon was high as he traversed the city streets. He was usually already settled in his cell by this time of night.

 _Hm..._

Now that Hans thought about it, he realized his time aboard _La Stella Luminosa_ had increased every evening.

 _How? I always leave when... Ohhh..._

He'd made it customary to turn down the invitation to join the family's nightly Scripture reading and then depart. _They must have noticed._ The readings were being pushed back a little more with each visit.

 _Why?_

Perhaps they hoped he would relent, staying for both the reading and the night because it was too late to journey home.

 _Or perhaps they want to enjoy your company for as long as possible._

The derisive laugh that exploded from within him was loud, echoing against the surrounding buildings. Hans cringed as it bounced and faded.

"What's so funny?"

Hans jumped and whirled to face his inquisitive stalker. "Pierre."

The named man grinned. "Lars. Fancy running into you here."

 _This was no accident._ "Yes, what an odd coincidence." He turned to leave.

"Ah," Pierre voiced, halting Hans' movement. "Before you run off, I have a question."

Hans sighed at the unnecessary pause. "And that would be...?"

"Does Natalia have any... _interest_ in me?"

"No," Hans stated flatly.

Pierre frowned. "Why not?"

"You said ' _a_ question,'" Hans retorted, walking away.

Pierre called after him. "Heading back to the castle?"

Hans' blood ran cold. _Stay calm._ He continued his steps. "You must not sleep well, being out late and saying strange things."

Pierre chuckled. "Well if _that's_ how you're going to be, I'll have to have my friend ask you instead."

Ulrik appeared from an alleyway, directly in Hans' path.

"I'm sure Captain Sorensen would be very interested in why you're roaming the streets, _Hans_ ," Ulrik sneered.

 _He's a guard._ Hans froze as his mind put all the pieces in place. He'd never interacted with Ulrik directly, only glimpsed the man in the background during past trips through the castle's main gate. Ulrik's unique hair was always hidden by his hat when in uniform. _That's why he seemed familiar yet unrecognizable._ Given this revelation, Hans didn't have much to fear from Ulrik himself. _He's rather new, to not even have a rotation as the lead sentry. He can't do much besides report me._

"I highly suggest listening to Pierre," Ulrik continued, "or else you can kiss your freedom goodbye."

Hans looked over his shoulder as footsteps approached from behind. "Listen? About what?"

Pierre smirked. "I have a proposition for you."


	12. The Deal

Hans tapped his fingers on the side of his chair. There was enough chatter in the atmosphere so no one could clearly make out any conversation except for that of their table-mates. _Probably why Pierre chose this place._

The well-to-do citizen had insisted on the location change, saying, "The street corner isn't a proper place for this sort of business." Hans suspected that, to the contrary, this was exactly the type of shady deal that took place in alleyways. Not that he'd been given any details yet. Pierre wanted a round of drinks first.

"Nothing for me," Hans declined, despite Pierre's gesture of approval. The waitress looked back to Pierre, who shrugged.

"Alright, just the two then," she stated before flitting away.

"You don't have to be so stiff," Pierre scolded humorously.

Hans folded his arms across his chest in response.

"Not exactly a personable fellow, are you?" Pierre noted.

"In this case, no," Hans replied. "Now, could we get on with whatever we're here for? I have work to do tomorrow morning."

The waitress returned with two mugs, which she set before Pierre and Ulrik. Pierre sipped from his glass as she left. Hans stared him down.

"You know what they say about all work and no play..." Pierre tutted.

Hans merely narrowed his eyes.

"Fine, fine," Pierre conceded, setting his drink aside. "It's getting late anyway." He stretched and shifted to a (presumably) more comfortable position. "You see, I have a bit of a dilemma."

Hans mentally braced himself for trivial drivel.

"As I'm sure you're aware, my family has amassed no small fortune through generations of trade and business," Pierre expounded. "Naturally, I've been privy to my own modest allowance. Unfortunately, it came with the stipulation that I be married by my twenty-fifth birthday. If I'm not wed by that time, I'll be cut off from my inheritance." He stopped, expecting a question.

Hans sighed. "I presume that date will pass shortly?"

"January first," Pierre confirmed. "Given that we're in July, that's not much time to court a lady."

"And the reason you've essentially waited until the last minute is...?"

"It's very difficult to find a woman I could actually tolerate for a lifetime of matrimony." Pierre granted himself a sip of liquor. "Every prospect thus far has been... _strong-willed_ , for lack of a better term." He shuddered as he returned the mug to its resting place.

Hans knew where this was leading, but he wasn't about to tip his hand to Pierre. "And this involves me how?"

"Well, not directly," Pierre admitted. "You're more of an auxiliary piece."

 _That's nothing new._ "You want my assistance in procuring a wife."

Pierre nodded. "Specifically, Natalia."

Hans groaned internally but kept himself stoic. "Why?"

"Because she's docile," Pierre answered, "and a tame girl like her won't try to control how I spend my time or money."

"And you know that from the long, detailed conversations you two have shared." Hans' sarcasm was obvious.

Pierre smiled. "Come on, it's plain as day! Anyway, that's where you come in. You'll give me more information on Natalia so I can know the best approach to wooing her."

Hans raised his eyebrows. "You're making a large assumption, counting on my help."

Pierre motioned to the silent Ulrik. "You seem to be forgetting my friend here. If you don't agree to this, you'll lose your freedom."

Hans dismissed the threat with a shrug. He doubted either man had an inkling of the full scope of his mistreatment. If he could downplay the unpleasantness of being guarded, he reduced Pierre's power over him. "I survived under twenty-four-hour surveillance before. I can do it again."

Pierre's expression flickered to a frown, but returned to a smile as he pressed on. "A report to your family would make it much worse."

"Possibly," Hans chuckled, "but who's going to receive the brunt of the punishment: the criminal who took advantage of a situation, or the soldiers who allowed the situation to happen in the first place?" _The soldiers would then turn their wrath on_ _ **me**_ _, but if these two are too foolish to realize that, that's_ _ **their**_ _problem._

Ulrik and Pierre exchanged glances. Hans knew he was winning.

"Of course, I'd also inform Natalia," Pierre declared.

"Oh, please," Hans scoffed. "Her learning the truth is a only a matter of _when_. I'd much rather get it over with now than be party to this scheme of yours." _And I could easily swing her sympathies to my benefit._

Pierre became very interested in his glass, swirling the liquid inside. Hans clenched his teeth to keep from smirking. For a minute, the only sound was the boisterous noise surrounding their table.

Ulrik looked to be pondering something. The off-duty guard leaned over and whispered in his chum's ear.

Pierre took a swig as Ulrik straightened. "I'll hire you," Pierre offered.

"Hire me?" Hans questioned.

"Once I'm married, I'll be given my own house. I'm sure I'll have at least two horses. With my family's influence, I'd convince whomever is in charge of your scheduling that you should be my exclusive stable hand."

"I don't see how that's beneficial to me," Hans stated, crossing his arms.

"If your handler agrees to my proposal, I'd point out that it makes more sense for you to live on my property than be escorted to and from your only job," Pierre clarified. "If he demands a guard for you, I'd casually suggest Ulrik."

Ulrik gave a short nod at Pierre's mention of his name.

"What do you think?" Pierre inquired, meeting Hans' unwavering gaze. "It would be even more freedom than you currently enjoy. And," he added with a wink, "you'd get to be close to Natalia."

Hans arched a brow. "Why would I care about that?"

"She seems fond of you," Pierre commented. "From the way you acted last night, I assumed the feeling was mutual."

Hans couldn't help but wonder if the blonde was always this dense. "That doesn't matter if you two are husband and wife!"

Pierre blinked, then stroked his chin. "Right, right," he murmured.

"This is growing tiresome," Hans grumbled. "I want exact details, in plain and written terms, on how this is going to work."

"A contract, then?" Pierre suggested.

"That would be best," Hans agreed.

Pierre's eyes shifted to Ulrik, who stood and disappeared into the throng.

"It's almost as though he reads your thoughts," Hans observed.

"We grew up together," Pierre explained. "He's more of a listener than a talker, though."

"So I gathered."

Ulrik returned with a rolled parchment and fountain pen. He set the objects in front of Pierre and took his seat.

The merchant's son smoothed the paper in front of him. "Where to start..." Pierre muttered, uncapping the utensil. After another moment, nib met parchment and ink began to flow.

Hans was able to read most of the words from his upside-down vantage point. Still, he knew a thorough proofread was necessary. Pierre picked up the sheet, giving it an inspection before handing it to Hans.

The redhead verified the date in the top corner before moving on to the content itself.

 _Pierre Mercier and Hans (formerly known as His Royal Highness Prince Hans Westergaard) affirm the following:_

 _Hans will provide any and all knowledge of the maiden Natalia — including, but not limited to, her personality, strengths, weaknesses, hopes, dreams, fears, daily life, responsibilities, interests, hobbies, preferences on every matter, likes, dislikes, and any other possible topic — to Pierre. This will transpire both by initiation on the part of Hans and by inquiry on the part of Pierre. Every conceivable effort will be made by Hans to assist Pierre._

 _In exchange for Hans' cooperation, Pierre will not disclose Lars' true identity as Hans, nor his status as a convicted criminal, to anyone. Pierre will also neglect to notify the police and Royal Guard of Hans' lack of supervision, and will advise any suspicious third parties that they are misinformed._

 _Upon successful completion of a legal marriage between Pierre and Natalia, Hans will be granted the permanent position of head stable hand on the new Mercier estate. His accommodations will include a residence and meals superior to those he currently receives as a prisoner in the castle dungeon. His free time shall be his own, provided he in no way tarnishes the Mercier name with his unsupervised activities._

 _Should the wedding fail to take place by January 1st of next year, or should the courtship be terminated for any reason, this agreement is void._

 _Signatures by both named parties and a witness confirm the validity of this contract._

"Is everything satisfactory?" Pierre queried as Hans lowered the parchment.

Hans' head moved in a slight nod. _'Satisfactory' is hardly the word for it._ He took the pen from Pierre's extended hand. Though he had managed to tip the scale in his favor, he certainly wasn't thrilled to be in this position. Hans neatly signed his name on the bottom of the paper. This added another layer of complexity to what was becoming an increasingly precarious undertaking.

Hans passed both items back to Pierre, who scrawled his signature before sliding the pen and page to Ulrik.

"Excellent!" Pierre exclaimed as Ulrik added the final name. "We have a deal!" He presented the document to Hans. "So, I was thinking of calling on Natalia tomorrow. What should I do?"

The ex-prince rolled the parchment, careful not to smudge the damp ink, and stashed the scroll inside his sleeve. " _You_ are going to have to approach this _very_ delicately."


	13. The Dinner

Hans paused by the bow of the ship. He'd been preparing himself all day, yet he wasn't quite ready for the compulsory strategy shift.

He exhaled as he traced one of the engraved letters on the hull. _It's lucky I was interrupted._ If he _had_ kissed Natalia, his arrangement with Pierre would be impossible to complete.

The sea breeze died down, and a new sound reached him. _It's coming from inside._ He pressed his ear against the wood.

 _Singing._

He moved closer to the stern and leaned his head against the hull once more. Natalia's soft voice echoed from the other side.

" _Love so amazing, so divine..."_

It was a hymn, though he couldn't recall which one.

" _Demands my soul, my life, my all."_

The notes faded, though that wasn't saying much given how faint they were to begin with. _Is she afraid of being heard?_ Considering her self-doubts with drawing and sewing, singing probably wasn't any different. _She would never consciously allow anyone to listen to her._

Hans was about to pull away when Natalia began a new song. Intrigued by the unfamiliar tune, he remained still.

" _Amazing grace, how sweet the sound,_  
" _That saved a wretch like me!_  
" _I once was lost, but now am found,_  
" _Was blind, but now I see."_

"Lars!"

Hans started and spun to see Mirella behind him.

"What's the matter? Are you unwell?" the matriarch inquired, looking him up and down.

"Not at all!" Hans insisted, unnerved by the woman's piercing scrutinization.

"Hm." The mother laid the back of her hand across Hans' forehead. "Well, you don't have a fever," Mirella concluded. She pulled her hand away, only to snatch Hans' chin instead. His eyes bulged at the intrusiveness, though Mirella was oblivious to his discomfort. She rotated his head left and right for a better examination. "Eyes are clear. Skin is normal." She took a step back and placed her hands on her hips. "Physically, you're fine. Is something on your mind?"

"N-not particularly," Hans smattered. "I was just on my way to see Natalia."

"Oh?" A knowing smirk flashed across the mother's face. "Go on, then."

Hans gave her an awkward smile and retreated up the gangplank.

 _She's going to be disappointed._

Hans stepped onto the deck as Natalia alighted from the hatchway.

"Good afternoon," he greeted.

The young woman grinned and opened her mouth to reply, only to be silenced by her mother.

"Were you cleaning just now?" Mirella demanded, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

Natalia paled, guilt clear on her face.

"I leave for _five minutes_..." her mother grumbled, shaking her head. She waved the two off with a sigh. "No more work. Go read or sew or whatever you're doing today." The matriarch disappeared into the master cabin.

Natalia giggled. "Well, we finished your boots, so unless you'd like to learn how to make a shirt, I'll get our books..."

She trailed off upon noticing footsteps on the dock below. Hans could tell from her puzzled expression that she didn't recognize the gait, meaning it wasn't Vincenzo or Leone.

 _You'll come to know it eventually._

"Hello?" a familiar voice called. "Is anyone home?"

Natalia went rigid. Hans put a hand on her shoulder as Mirella exited the cabin.

"Yes. Who's calling?" the elder woman replied as she peered down at the stranger.

"I'm Pierre Mercier," the man answered. "Do you have a daughter named Natalia?"

Mirella glanced to the pair behind her. Natalia was clutching her apron. Hans gave Mirella a single nod.

"Come on up," the matriarch acquiesced.

As the visitor climbed the gangplank, Hans put his lips near Natalia's ear.

"Don't be nervous," he whispered. "Just talk to him as you do me."

"But he's _not_ you," was the only protest she was able to mutter before Pierre approached her. Hans moved aside so he was perpendicular to the two.

"Natalia." Pierre made a half-hearted attempt at a bow before continuing. "I wanted to check up on you, given your state during our last meeting."

"Well, as you can see, I'm fine!" She laughed nervously. "I'm curious how you found me, though."

"When you're a Mercier, it's easy to find any information you seek," Pierre explained with a shrug.

"Oh." Natalia resumed fiddling with the white fabric near her waist.

Pierre's gaze shifted ever so slightly to Hans. Hans blinked, and Pierre refocused on Natalia.

"Since your health has improved, I'd be greatly honored if you would join me for dinner tomorrow."

The color drained from Natalia's face. "No thank—"

"Of course she will!" Mirella interrupted, gently taking hold of her daughter's arm.

Pierre's smile strained at the conflicting messages. "So that's a 'yes,' then?"

Natalia's eyes darted to Hans. He read her silent pleading instantly. _She wants me to save her._ He felt a pinch in his stomach, which he immediately put out of his mind.

"You deserve to have a nice evening out, especially since your time at the festival was cut short," Hans commented. He ignored the growing panic on Natalia's face. "I imagine a restaurant would be the perfect location for dinner and casual conversation."

Pierre snapped his fingers. "I know just the place! It's an exquisite little spot in the business district. What do you say?"

Natalia could only shake her head with wide-eyed terror.

"I think it's a marvelous idea," her mother encouraged, giving the younger woman a squeeze.

The girl shot one last desperate glance at Hans. With a smile and a nod, he affirmed Mirella's sentiment.

Natalia hung her head in defeat. "Alright," she mumbled.

"Excellent!" Pierre exclaimed. "I'll have a carriage pick you up around six." He gave another sloppy bow. "I'll see you tomorrow!" With that, he left the ship

As soon as he was gone, Mirella scampered down the stairs. "This is wonderful! Absolutely fantastic!"

Hans' eyes followed the matriarch. _She's far more enthusiastic about this than I anticipated. Good._

Natalia stood motionless, staring at the deck. Hans caught the quiver of her bottom lip as he retook his place by her side.

"Why?" Her voice quavered with her trembling form.

He deduced the rest of the question. _'_ _Why didn't you defend me?'_ His hand returned to her shoulder. "He gave you much-needed assistance at the festival, Natalia. If he requests this small gesture, it's only polite to return the favor."

She sniffed and wiped her face with her handkerchief. "I suppose."

He took her hands in his own. "As I said, don't be nervous. You'll do fine. Just be yourself. I'm sure he'll love you."

Natalia flinched, but said nothing. Hans released her hands as Mirella bounded up the staircase.

"Here we are!" she announced, unfolding the mass of fabric in her arms.

Hans raised his eyebrows. Natalia gasped.

"We still have that?!" the young woman questioned. "But I thought—"

"I kept something for each of us," Mirella interjected. "You never know when they might be needed!"

The item was a silk evening gown, deep blue with accents of light blue and white. _Wait..._ Hans squinted at one of the lighter parts. The material was identical to the lining of his gloves. _Interesting._

Natalia ran her hand down the bodice. "This probably doesn't even fit anymore."

"We're going to check right now!" Mirella declared. She began to guide her daughter to the master cabin. "Even if it doesn't, I'm sure it will be an easy fix." The matriarch suddenly remembered their usual guest. "I'm sorry, Lars. You'll have to read by yourself today."

"It's quite alright," Hans assured her. "I understand."

Mirella smiled. Natalia cast one last forlorn look over her shoulder before the mother and daughter vanished into the room.

* * *

Hans re-read his menu for the dozenth time. He knew to stay away from the Italian dishes (as they would surely pale in comparison to Mirella's cooking), but everything else sounded appealing. _Decisions, decisions._

The articles from his old wardrobe had proven useful after all. With proper clothes and slicked-back hair, he appeared to be an average nobleman out for an evening meal. Of course, it helped that Pierre knew the restaurant staff personally.

"Morten, I'd like you to meet my old friend, Albert," Pierre had said to the host when the two arrived. "Unfortunately, I have other plans for dinner, otherwise I'd have you seat us together. His meal is on me, though." He then addressed Hans. "I do apologize, Albert. We'll have to catch up some other time."

 _If nothing else, he's a halfway-decent actor._ Hans glanced up from his pondering. Pierre was already seated at the next table over, and Natalia had just been escorted in.

"I'm sorry," she breathed as the host helped her into the chair. "Were you waiting long?"

"Not at all," Pierre replied. "I just wanted to make sure everything was in order before you arrived."

Morten handed each one a menu before departing. Pierre opened his, so Natalia did the same.

The ex-prince's eyes bored into the side of Pierre's head. _Compliment her._ Hans was there to observe and give advice post-dinner (perhaps mid-dinner as well, if Natalia opted to use the powder room). However, he was now wishing he and Pierre had worked out a more sophisticated code than the "one blink means yes or continue, two blinks means no or stop" method they had used yesterday. _Idiot._ Flattery was a key component in _all_ interactions — one merely had to employ the proper tactics. _I told you not to_ _ **over**_ _-do it. That didn't mean_ _ **don't**_ _do it at_ _ **all**_ _!_ Some sort of pleasantry should have been said as soon as the two were alone, but now they were wordlessly studying their menus. _This isn't that difficult!_ It wasn't as though Natalia was some hideous hag that no man in his right mind would find attractive. If one could find her beautiful as a peasant, there was no argument to be made against her allure in her present state. Her curly hair reached her waist, with the sides pulled back and held together with a delicate blue bow. Her dress, though likely a few years old (judging from Natalia's comments upon seeing it), suited her well. Overall, she was quite elegant.

Pierre shifted his menu so it blocked his face from Natalia's view and turned to Hans.

' _Say something!'_ Hans mouthed while gesturing to the preoccupied woman.

Pierre nodded in understanding and lowered his menu.

"You look lovely."

Natalia gave a small smile. "Thank you. You as well. Er, handsome, not lovely." She bit her lip and hid her blushing face behind the bi-fold cover.

"I have to say, I didn't expect you to show up in something so fancy," Pierre admitted.

"Am I overdressed?" Natalia queried, horrified.

"No, no," Pierre assured her. "I just didn't think you would have such a gown in your possession."

Hans gripped his pant legs to keep himself from physically smacking his own face.

Thankfully, the waiter arrived to take the pair's order, followed by Hans' requests. The two fell silent after the waiter moved on, Natalia folding her napkin while Pierre sipped his liquor. Hans was unsure if this lapse was good or bad, given Pierre's astounding failure so far.

The appetizers were served without another exchange between the uncomfortable couple. Natalia stabbed a fork-full of salad while Pierre stirred his soup.

"So, how old are you?" Pierre asked nonchalantly.

Hans groaned inwardly. Natalia would think nothing of the question, but the merchant's son had apparently never held an actual conversation with a woman.

"Twenty-two," the maiden answered.

 _Hm._ Leone couldn't be more than a few years older than her, which meant he was close to, if not the same as, Hans' own twenty-four years. _Not that he acts like it._

Natalia had kept her focus on Pierre after her reply, but the man began sipping from his soup spoon without further comment. Natalia's shoulders drooped and she returned to her salad.

 _She was waiting for a remark. A courtesy platitude, or, more likely, Pierre divulging_ _ **his**_ _age._

Hans sighed quietly and turned his attention to the _hors d'oeuvres_ on his own table. He paced himself, going back-and-forth between the crab-stuffed mushrooms and the shrimp bowl.

"What do you enjoy doing in your spare time?"

Hans' head snapped up in surprise. Pierre was momentarily stunned that Natalia had spoken, but recovered quickly. "Oh, normal stuff. Talking with my friends, watching sporting events, the occasional hunt every now and then... you?"

"I like sewing and needlework, and I read when I can," Natalia responded.

Hans grimaced. _She left out drawing._ The omission was obviously intentional. _She doesn't trust him with that information._

Pierre nodded as though Natalia had just revealed something extremely interesting. "You know, my father has quite the library. I should show it to you sometime."

Natalia flashed a forced smile. "Perhaps."

Hans popped a mushroom in his mouth. _This is going nowhere fast._

The waiter returned and exchanged the pair's empty bowls for their entrées.

"The portions are quite substantial here," Pierre pointed out.

"I suppose," Natalia murmured.

Hans' dish was brought out, and he understood why Natalia hadn't readily agreed with Pierre. While the serving was indeed large for a Southern Isles native, it was slightly underwhelming for someone used to an Italian mother's cooking.

The conversation between the two lulled once more. The atmosphere hummed with distant chatter and clinking silverware, but the couple ate in silence.

Hans rolled his eyes and began to methodically work his way through his steak, lobster tail, and potatoes. He doubted Natalia _minded_ the silence (after all, she never did). However, Pierre was _supposed_ to be making a memorable first impression. _Or rather, a second impression greater than his first._ So far, however, the merchant's son had proven himself to be downright dull company.

The former royal was almost finished with his meal when he heard Pierre give a low whistle.

"I'm stuffed!" the man proclaimed. There was a small amount left on his plate — nothing out of the ordinary — yet he was making a show of being full, as if he wanted his companion to be impressed with how much he'd taken in. "I can't eat another bite!" Pierre leaned forward. "How'd you do?"

Hans' eyes flickered to Natalia's side of the table, then darted back to Pierre in panic. Pierre's mouth hung agape, shocked at finding not a single speck of food on Natalia's plate. Natalia's forehead creased with concern at Pierre's expression, glancing from his face to her dish and back again.

 _For the love of God, don't say anything stupid—_

"You didn't need to push yourself," Pierre scolded.

"But I didn't," Natalia insisted. "It was just the right amount of food."

Pierre arched his brows, looking Natalia up and down. "Well, at least no one will ever think you're malnourished."

It was a miracle Hans didn't snap the stem of his wine glass in half.

 _He's a fool. Damn it all, I've been trapped into helping a complete and utter moron. Good God. This is punishment, isn't it? For Arendelle, or Natalia, or my mere existence. She'll never want to marry this inconsiderate buffoon!_

He looked up from his internal cringing to ascertain exactly how much damage had been done. Hazel eyes met brown ones, as Natalia was peering across the gap at him. Realizing she'd been noticed, she returned to her gaze to the empty plate, her ears turning red.

A string of obscenities shot through Hans' mind, but he forced himself to eat the remainder of his dinner. Leaving would seem suspicious. He couldn't even be sure that she'd recognized him, with his dapper appearance and the dim lighting. _I can't worry about that right now. I'll deal with it if she confronts me._

"Are you interested in dessert?" Pierre inquired.

"No," Natalia retorted bitterly. Realizing her tone, she corrected herself. "I mean, 'no, thank you.'"

"Perhaps you'd like something to take with you?" Pierre prodded. "They have waxed boxes for that exact purpose."

Natalia considered this. "I want to get something for my brother, if that's alright with you."

"Of course," Pierre confirmed. He passed her the dessert menu. "That's really nice of you, to think of your brother."

Hans perked up as the gears in his head began to turn. _Perhaps there's hope after all._

* * *

"How was the ride to the ship?"

Pierre shrugged and took a seat at the table next to Hans. The pub was noisy, as it had been the previous night.

"Quiet," Pierre responded. "She only gave me one-word answers and didn't initiate any conversation whatsoever."

"That's normal with her," Hans informed him (again). "Though, frankly, your social skills are substandard as well."

"She doesn't give me any material to work with!" Pierre whined.

Hans rolled his eyes. _He'll need to be trained in manners before he completely alienates her._ "We'll discuss that later," Hans dismissed him. "In the meantime, I've figured out what your angle should be."

"And that is?"

"Economic stability," Hans revealed. "Not for Natalia herself, but for her family."

Pierre frowned. "So I'd have to give money to her family? My inheritance is sizable, but it's not unlimited."

"Most wealthy men give their wives an allowance," Hans exposited, "especially if that man wants his wife to stay out of his business. So you'd be giving Natalia a monthly allotment anyway. You simply make it clear that she can do whatever she wants with it, including sending it to her family."

Pierre stroked his chin. "Do you really think that would be enough to convince her?"

"She feels guilty that she's physically unable to help her family beyond simple chores — and sometimes even _those_ are too much for her. If you give her the opportunity to help them monetarily, she should see the benefits of that over their current way of life."

"And I can count on you to help guide her to that conclusion." It was a statement rather than a question.

"If necessary," Hans replied. "Her mother would be more influential, though, especially since she wants Natalia to have an easier life out of concern for her health."

"So what's my next step?" Pierre queried.

Hans hid his annoyance at how he had to spell everything out for this imbecile. "You need to show your wealth without flaunting it. Keep taking Natalia to nice places, but don't draw unnecessary attention to her. Buy her gifts that are useful, not extravagant. Casually mention things that remind her family about your quality of life. Mirella will support a marriage if she believes it will be better for Natalia, and Natalia will accept a marriage proposal if she believes it will benefit her family."

Pierre nodded. "Sounds good. In fact, that gives me a few ideas."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** The first hymn is "When I Survey the Wondrous Cross" by Isaac Watts. The second hymn is, obviously, "Amazing Grace" by John Newton. However, in 1840, it wasn't very well-known (especially in Europe). The decades-old verses had been paired with its now-famous music only 5 years earlier, and the new composition was passed around orally until publication in a "tunebook" in 1847.


	14. The Invitation

Two days had passed since the disastrous dinner. Hans had skipped his routine visit to _La Stella Luminosa_ the previous evening — in part thanks to a trip to the Hole, and partially because he wanted to avoid Natalia. He needed to make his presence a bit scarcer; otherwise, his intellect, charm, and manners would regularly outshine Pierre's.

Then there was the matter of him being witnessed at the restaurant. Even a one day gap would increase Natalia's doubt about it being Lars she saw, if indeed she suspected him at all. He couldn't stay away too long, though. Natalia considered Lars her best friend, and he needed her to keep that trust if his deal with Pierre was to be successful.

Hans finished his work and made his way to the harbor.

"Good afternoon, Lars!"

The familiar greeting rang out as Hans alighted on the deck. This one was delivered by Leone's enthusiastic voice.

"It's good that you're here!" Leone exclaimed as he approached his friend. "You can join us for dinner at Brogan's!"

"Isn't that rude, inviting an extra guest to someone else's house?" Hans questioned.

Leone waved off the concern. "Brogan doesn't mind stuff like that. Besides, the Connolloys invited our whole family."

Hans wordlessly raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look. You _are_ practically family," Leone protested.

Hans grunted. _I wonder if the rest of them feel that way._

Hans' response (or lack thereof) seemed to dampen Leone's spirit. "Anyway," Leone continued in a more subdued tone, "it's fine if you come with us. You'd be taking Natalia's place."

"Oh?" Hans acted confused, though he suspected the reason.

"Yeah. That Pierre guy invited her to dinner and the theater tonight," Leone muttered.

"You appear less than thrilled with that fact," Hans observed.

Leone shrugged. "As is Natalia."

Hans frowned. "Has she said anything about it?"

"No," Leone answered, "but she's obviously not excited."

Hans smirked. "To be fair, her version of excited is very different from yours."

"I know."

The pointed stare that accompanied Leone's declaration made Hans uncomfortable.

"Maybe I should go talk to her," the auburn-haired youth proposed.

"Probably a good idea," Leone agreed, "considering she actually _talks_ to you."

There was a note of regret in the foreigner's voice. Hans pretended not to notice and walked to the closed door of the smaller cabin.

He knocked twice in succession. "Natalia? May I come in?"

"Yes," she replied flatly.

Hans entered and closed the door behind him. The young woman was sitting on a stool by her dresser. She wore the same blue dress she'd worn two days ago, but her hairstyle was new — a high bun, laced with ribbon and small braids.

"Your hair looks nice," Hans complimented.

"Thank you," she acknowledged sullenly. "Mamma did it for me."

Hans crossed his arms. "Alright, why aren't you looking forward to your night out?"

Natalia's eyes widened for a moment before she closed them with a sigh. "I didn't enjoy the first one."

"Why not?"

"I'm not _comfortable_ around Pierre," she explained. "We don't have anything in common."

"' _Anything_?'" Hans teased.

"He's an only child from a wealthy family. He likes hunting, fishing, and sporting games," Natalia detailed without humor. "He talks for prolonged periods and then suddenly stops, as though he expects me to talk as much as he just did. He hates to sit still and fidgets when he does. We're nothing alike."

Some of this was new information to Hans, but he didn't doubt her. After all, he hadn't been there for the carriage ride. Pierre had divulged nothing of substance regarding the trip, but Natalia had certainly made a few observations.

"Perhaps he was simply nervous," Hans suggested.

"I've taken that into consideration," Natalia acknowledged.

"Is that why you agreed to see him again?" Hans inquired.

Natalia nodded. "That, and... Mamma wouldn't accept a decision after just one dinner."

Hans cocked his head. "A decision on what?"

"Courtship." Natalia exhaled slowly. "At least, Mamma believes that's Pierre's intention. Either way, I'd probably have to have at least five outings with him before she'd allow me to decline another one."

"Are you absolutely set on refusing him?" Hans prodded.

Natalia bit her lip. "No. I'm just pretty sure I will."

"Well, you have to keep an open mind," Hans encouraged. "He must like you, otherwise he wouldn't have bothered finding you again."

"I suppose," Natalia admitted, "though I can't fathom why he'd be interested in me over the thousands of other single women in this city. I'm not beautiful, or engaging, or memorable. My family has no assets except this ship." She paused, weighing some other possibilities. "My parents both come from respectable families, but that doesn't mean much outside their homelands. He wouldn't gain anything from it. The only thing that makes sense is that he's looking for a wife whose sole asset is domestic skills."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," Hans scolded. "Besides, if his family is wealthy, he can afford housemaids. I doubt he cares about your cleaning abilities."

Natalia rested her chin in her hand as she eyed herself in the mirror. "Perhaps."

Hans sat on the trunk at the end of Natalia's bed. "So, is Pierre taking you to the same restaurant as before?"

"Goodness, no!" Natalia gasped. "I only have this one gown. I made sure we're going somewhere else."

Hans nodded understandingly. It was common knowledge that a high-class lady wouldn't be caught dead wearing the same frock to the same place, especially for two visits in a row. He groaned inwardly at the realization that Pierre was indeed foolish enough to forget this fact. _I'll have to make sure he doesn't repeat any outing locations._

"Speaking of your gown—" Hans pointed to the underdress (visible through a stylish slit in the front of the skirt), "—is this the material you used for the lining of my gloves?"

Natalia instinctively looked down. "Oh, yes. I didn't take it from this, though. Our dressmaker gave me the extra silk because it's my favorite color."

Hans furrowed his brow. "' _Our_ dressmaker?'"

Crimson crept into Natalia's features. "Uh, yes... back when we could afford such a thing." She wrung her hands. "That's why I was surprised Mamma kept this. I thought we'd sold everything of value."

 _Hm._ Hans stroked his chin as Natalia stared at her hands. _Things are making more sense now._ From their first meeting, he'd presumed this was a family of commoners. However, as Natalia had just mentioned, Vincenzo and Mirella both came from "respectable" — upper-class, wealthy — families. This explained why their parents — Natalia's grandparents — insisted on their grandchildren receiving a proper education. It stood to reason that, at some point, some event had caused the family to lose their wealth; thus they'd had to sell almost all their possessions.

"Natalia, if you don't mind my asking, how old is your dress?"

"Hmmm... over six years old."

He couldn't keep himself from gawking. "You kept that material for six years?! And you used it on my gloves?!"

Her cheeks flushed. "Ah, well, my choices were limited by the small amount of fabric, and I never thought of anything I really wanted to make with it." She smiled at Hans. "Although, it's a good thing I didn't. I'm glad I was able to use silk for the lining instead of cotton."

 _She's happy she could give me the best she had._ He felt a small prick in his abdomen and examined his shirt for a nettle.

Natalia cleared her throat. "Um..."

Hans looked up. "Yes?"

"When I was out to dinner with Pierre, I thought I saw—"

Hans prepared himself for the worst.

"—one of your brothers."

"Oh." He hoped his inflection dissuaded Natalia from pursuing the topic, but he was pleased with her assumption. He'd feared she would think it was Lars she saw, in which case he'd planned to lay the blame on one of Lars' (imaginary) brothers. Thankfully, she'd come to this conclusion on her own.

"Do they still live in Købense?"

"No," Hans answered. "At least, not that I know of. Last I heard, they all married into money and moved away. I suppose it's possible that one of them returned, but, more likely, he was only visiting."

Natalia sighed. "I should have said something to him."

Hans straightened. "What? Why?"

"He enjoyed a lavish meal while you have to work every day and have nothing."

"No, it's good that you didn't talk to him. Even if it was one of my brothers, I'm sure he would have denied any relation." Hans waved his hand dismissively. "Besides, I have a few things." He paused, then added, "Thanks to you and your family."

"Natalia." Leone opened the door as he called. " _Pierre_ is here."

The young woman flashed a weak smile. "Thank you." She stood and faced Hans. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Yes," Hans replied without forethought.

Natalia's smile was genuine this time. "Until tomorrow, then."

* * *

The Connolloys' estate was rather impressive. It sat on a sprawling parcel of land enclosed with a high fence. There was a large stable toward the northeast corner, and several smaller buildings dotted across the grassy expanse. The main house was as grand as any noble's home. However, it lacked the classic sophistication of those aristocratic structures, as it was modern in construction.

A servant met the quartet at the gate, escorting them down the cobblestone road and into the main house.

"Welcome!" a booming male voice greeted them. "I'm glad all of you could join us for dinner!" The source of the voice was a somewhat chubby man, who eyed Hans with interest. "I take it this is the Lars fellow I've heard so much about?"

"You must be Mr. Connolloy," Hans stated as he extended his hand.

"Call me Brogan," the man insisted with a hefty shake. He released Hans' hand and motioned to the woman beside him. "My wife, Edela."

"Pleased to meet you." Edela curtsied as she spoke.

"The pleasure is mine," Hans replied with a slight bow.

"Ooh, such a gentleman!" Edela tittered.

Brogan gave a bemused chuckle as he started down the hall. "Come. The first course is ready to be served."

* * *

Vincenzo and Brogan retreated to Brogan's office after supper, much to Edela's dismay.

"We have company and he can't even take the night off!" she complained. Ushering the two young men into the parlor, she continued her rant. "Really, what kind of host abandons most of his guests? And I'd hoped we could all enjoy tales of your travels before dessert." Mrs. Connolloy gave a small huff before smiling. "Well, I'm sure you boys can entertain yourselves while we wait for the men... or dessert, whichever comes first." She flitted from the room with Mirella in tow.

Hans observed his surroundings. The room contained a couch, a few chairs, a table, a piano, a free-standing harp, and a small bookshelf.

Leone, clearly no stranger to the parlor, immediately retrieved a wooden box from the bookshelf. He held it out to Hans. "Do you like chess?"

"Yes." Hans pulled a chair up to the table.

Leone plopped the box on the table, cringing when it made a louder _THUNK!_ than expected. He smirked sheepishly as he began to pull the pieces from the box. "Black or white?"

"Doesn't matter," Hans responded. This was a casual game, after all.

Leone placed a white pawn on Hans' side and a black pawn on his own. Hans set his remaining pieces while Leone did the same.

White had the first move, and Hans made his swiftly.

"Wow, no hesitation," Leone chuckled. "I take it you've played a lot."

"I don't know if I would say 'a lot,'" Hans mused, watching Leone make his selection. "Just 'enough.'"

"When did you learn how to play?" Leone queried.

"I think I was six or seven," Hans answered as he shifted a pawn. "You?"

"Same, though I didn't like it until I was a bit older." Leone studied the board with a perplexed grimace. "Sorry, it's been awhile since I played with anyone."

"It's fine. I haven't played in over a year myself."

Leone flexed his finger over a bishop. "Speaking of years, I've been meaning to ask: how old are you?"

"Twenty-four," Hans replied.

Leone's countenance brightened. "Really? Me too! When's your birthday?"

"June fifteenth." There was no risk in sharing this information. Most of the Southern Isles, let alone the rest of the world, didn't even know there _was_ a thirteenth Westergaard prince (before his little misadventure made him the gossip topic of the month). They certainly didn't know his age, and if anyone knew his date of birth, it was only because they remembered the day the Isles lost their queen.

"Mine's March eighth," Leone offered without prompt. "That makes me a little more than three months older than you."

"So you _can_ do simple arithmetic in your head!" Hans gasped in mock surprise.

"Hey!" Leone whined with a pout. "Since when did I give the impression that I was bad at mathematics?"

"You didn't _per sae_ ," Hans admitted, "but, overall, you appear to lack the caution necessary for precise calculations."

"Well, I guess we'll never know, since I've never needed to analyze such things," Leone retorted, sticking his tongue out at Hans.

The two sat like that for a moment before Hans broke the silence. "Are you going to make your move?"

Leone returned his tongue to his mouth. "Oh, right!"

* * *

"My my, poor Lars," Edela tutted. "I can see why your family would relate to his situation."

Mirella nodded. "I'm sure that's why Leone brought him to us in the first place. Leone probably sensed that Lars' past was similar to his own."

Edela pursed her lips. "But Lars would be more like Natalia, yes? Leone is more like Lars' older brothers—"

Mirella tensed at the statement.

"—generally speaking, if we're making comparisons," Edela hastily added. "But at least Leone returned to the right path."

"Yes," Mirella agreed, relaxing. "That's all we ever truly wanted."

* * *

"Checkmate," Hans declared as he released his queen from his fingertips.

"That's two out of three!" Leone's giddy voice made it sound like _he_ were the winner instead of Hans. "Should we go to five?"

Hans shook his head. He could tell that Leone had _let_ him win the first and third games. The foreigner was holding back. Hans had a few guesses as to the reason, but there was no need to make a scene about it.

"Well, what do you want to play next?" Leone inquired. "Checkers? Backgammon? Dominoes?"

"I'm not sure." The redhead stood as he scanned the room for another activity. He enjoyed anything that required strategy and skill. However, something that relied on pure luck would give his mind a break, as well as keep Leone from purposely losing. He opened a small case atop the bookshelf. "How about a game of dice?"

"How about something else?" Leone replied tersely.

"Alright," Hans muttered, taken aback. Leone's tone almost made his sentence an order, rather than a question. Hans returned the case and picked up a deck in its place. "Cards?"

"I don't play cards."

Hans couldn't help but stare at his companion. The note of regret he'd heard earlier had returned, but with a bitter snap to it.

 _'That's terrible! To be so irresponsible and leave your younger sibling with nothing...'_

Hans' eyes widened. "You mean, you don't play cards _anymore_."

Leone started in surprise, then quickly turned away.

 _I'm right._

"Your family used to have a significant amount of wealth," Hans expounded, "but they had to sell practically everything, to the point where Natalia was shocked your mother had saved an evening gown for her."

Leone's shoulders hunched as though he could make himself disappear. Hans' brain once again reminded him that exposing secrets was not wise, but he ignored the thought. At this point, he couldn't stop himself until he'd delivered his conclusion.

"It was to pay off your gambling debt, wasn't it?"

Leone flinched. "Something like that," he mumbled, still facing the opposite direction.

Hans was glad Leone hadn't moved. The former prince couldn't suppress the smug satisfaction of a correct deduction. This also put Leone's inadvertent, indirect revelation of fornication in a broader context. After all, vices rarely manifested in only a single area.

The only remaining mystery was precisely _how_ Leone was responsible for Natalia's head injury. _There are a dozen possibilities._ Perhaps Leone was supposed to be looking after his younger sister but pursued a lady instead. Or perhaps the incident had occurred after the payoff, and thus the family could not afford a doctor to properly treat Natalia. Hans thinned his lips as he put a hand to his chin. _Although, I suppose the specifics don't matter._

"I think that's part of why Natalia is at ease around you," Leone suddenly said.

"Pardon?" Hans' eyes redirected to the brunette.

"She relates to you," Leone explained. "You both lost your normal lives because of selfish older brothers."

Hans frowned. "She doesn't see you like that, Leone."

Leone shrugged. "It's still the truth, though."

"At least you feel remorse," Hans countered. He turned his gaze to the trees outside the window. "Unlike my brothers."

Damian's face came to mind, but Hans pushed it away with a silent scoff. _As though anything_ _ **he**_ _said was_ _ **genuine**_ _._

Movement drew Hans' attention back into the room. Leone had his nose in the air and was sniffing like a bloodhound.

"What is it?" Hans questioned, concerned.

Leone grinned. "Dessert! Let's go!" He scampered out the door without waiting for a response.

Hans stared after Leone in bewilderment before a realization dawned on him. The foreigner's happy-go-lucky attitude was almost always authentic. But it had come from years of forcing himself to focus on anything positive, in order to keep himself from drowning in guilt.


	15. The Celebration

He was initially disappointed that he'd so readily affirmed the future rendezvous. After all, he needed to put some distance between himself and Natalia. The longer he pondered it, though, the less it felt like a poor choice. Gradually increasing his time away from _La Stella Luminosa_ was better than a more obvious pattern, such as suddenly visiting every-other-day instead of every day.

 _Besides, what's done is done._ No need to risk any doubt of his sincerity by going back on his word (even if he _could_ easily fabricate a believable excuse).

"Hello?" Hans called as he crossed the threshold of the main cabin.

"Hello, Lars!" Mirella answered without a pause in her meal preparation.

Natalia looked over her shoulder with a smile. "Hello, Lars."

Mirella inspected Natalia's bowl. "This is good. Go on, now."

"Alright." Natalia wiped her hands on a towel, then joined Hans at the doorway.

"Shall we read outside today?" Hans inquired as they entered the adjacent cabin.

"Uhm, actually, I was hoping to finish something—" Natalia touched the closed sketchbook on her dresser, "—if that's alright with you."

"Of course," Hans assured her. He retrieved _The Captain's Daughter_ and made himself comfortable on the lower bed of Leone's bunk.

* * *

He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, someone was timidly prodding his upper arm.

"Lars? Lars?"

He opened his eyes to see Natalia's face.

"I'm sorry, I feel bad waking you..."

"Why are _you_ sorry? I'm the one who should be apologizing for falling asleep." He rolled towards her and propped himself up on his right arm. "Therefore, I'm sorry."

Natalia giggled. "Dinner's almost ready. Mamma will call us when it's done, but I figured you wouldn't want to go in groggy." She retreated to the stool as Hans slid off the bed.

"I appreciate that," he acknowledged with a stretch. His eyes landed on the sketchbook still atop the dresser. "Did you finish your drawing?"

"Oh, yes." She picked up the bound pages and parted them. "I finished a few, actually." She held the open book out to Hans.

He took it with a smile. _She really does trust me._ He studied the first work, a dog chasing a stick thrown by a boy. Next was a cat looking out a window at birds flying over city rooftops. The last was a scene of two old men playing chess outside a barber shop.

"These are fantastic," Hans complimented. "Very fine details."

Natalia blushed and smiled. "Thank you."

Hans returned the sketchbook. "I'm glad you showed them to me."

"Uh, you're welcome?" she replied in an unsure voice.

He chuckled. "You should show them to Pierre sometime."

Her smile was clearly forced. "Perhaps."

"SUPPER!"

Natalia sprang to her feet at her mother's call, seemingly relieved by the interruption. "Let's go!"

Hans trailed behind. "You're awfully cheery today."

She merely giggled as she entered the cabin.

He followed, but stopped short at the sight. "What's all this?"

Several kinds of wildflowers were strung up around the room. Multiple dishes sat on the counter, with a frosted cake in the center of the array.

"Happy birthday!" the family chorused.

Hans gave a bewildered stare. "It's not my birthday."

"Well, since we didn't know you on your birthday, we're celebrating it now!" Leone explained.

Hans knit his brows, feeling oddly light-headed. _I must be hungry. It's best to start eating anyway, especially after they went to all this trouble for me._

"That's very kind of you." He put himself in position to examine the food. "Is this _æbleflæsk_?" he queried, pointing to a platter.

"Yes!" Mirella replied. "I heard it was a traditional Southern Isles dish. I hope you like it."

"It's one of my favorites," Hans admitted. It was seen as a commoner's meal, but he had eaten it often enough in his royal life (mostly when dining with the servants to avoid his brothers). He paused to take in the four beaming faces around him. _This will undoubtedly be better, though._

* * *

"More cake?" Leone inquired as soon as the last bite entered Hans' mouth.

Hans shook his head, swallowing before speaking. "I'm stuffed."

"Good!" Leone exclaimed, retrieving three packages from the bed. "That means it's time for presents!"

 _Presents?_ Hans couldn't help his disbelief despite the parcels set before him. He was used to receiving only one gift, presented by an unenthusiastic servant. It was always a historical tome, though the exact one varied each year. Not that he'd received one this past birthday, of course. _I'm sure everyone was pleased about that, if they even remembered at all._ He touched the ribbon on the closest present.

"Go on, open them!" Mirella encouraged.

Hans picked the large, squishy-looking one first. _I'm pretty sure this is..._ As he suspected, inside lay clothes — two sets of trousers, three shirts, five pairs of socks, and several undergarments.

He raised his eyes to Mirella. "Thank you."

She waved him off. "I should have given them to you sooner, but I wanted to make sure everything could be interchanged and still match."

Hans allowed himself a bemused smirk. Only someone like Mirella would bother with the fashionability of a stable hand's wardrobe.

The second package contained a Bible. Hans examined it curiously. It wasn't the family Bible he'd glimpsed on occasion. This book was bound in brown leather instead of black, plus it was more worn. He gingerly opened the cover.

"Sorry it's so beat-up," Leone apologized. "Someone passed it on to me. It's been read every day for who knows how long."

"So it's important," Hans surmised.

Leone nodded. "That's why I gave it to you."

Hans pursed his lips, ignoring the odd sensation in his chest. "I can't accept this."

"Yes, you can," Leone countered.

"It's rude to refuse a gift, Lars," Mirella scolded.

Hans' form shrank slightly. "Yes, ma'am." He placed the Bible atop his new clothes. "Thank you, Leone."

Leone grinned. "You're welcome!"

Hans returned the warm expression, though he doubted the book would receive the same level of use under his ownership. _Well, at least I'll have something to read when they're gone._

Hans opened the third gift to reveal a wooden frame. Inside the rectangle was a pencil drawing of two horses running through a field. He immediately looked at Natalia.

"Mamma insisted we frame it," Natalia mumbled.

"Of course I did!" Mirella affirmed. "The paper will last longer that way!"

"After all," Leone added, "you spent so much time perfecting your present that it deserves special treatment!" He smirked as his sister's face flared crimson.

"Thank you, Natalia," Hans stated appreciatively. He cast his gaze around the room. "Thank you _all_. There are no words to adequately express my gratitude. I can never repay your generosity."

"You've never needed to," Vincenzo declared, "and that will not change. We love you, unconditionally. Remember that."

 _What?_

His shock must have been evident, as Leone's smile widened.

"You're part of this family, Lars," he affirmed. "We treat you the same way we treat each other."

"Even though today isn't your actual birthday, we still wanted to celebrate _you_ ," Mirella expounded. "After all, _every_ day is a day for us to be thankful that you were born."

The room twisted before his eyes. Hans clutched the table with one hand and his chair with the other. His chest felt like it was going to burst, yet simultaneously had the sensation of being crushed by a horse. After a moment, he realized the others were standing and speaking to him; however, his brain was not comprehending their words.

"I need a minute alone," he mumbled, stumbling outside.

He somehow managed to close the door, leaning against it. His blurred vision crisped with the city skyline in view. Disgusted bitterness filled him, and he dragged himself up the staircase to the bridge. Flopping against the rail at the stern, he stared at the open water beyond the harbor.

He couldn't have been there more than a minute when nearly-silent footsteps alerted him to Natalia's presence. He pivoted towards her.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "but I was worried—"

"I'm fine. It's nothing," he dismissed her, turning back to the water.

She inhaled audibly. "I know you better than that."

Hans noted the irony in such a claim, but she wasn't exactly wrong. They'd spent enough time together that she — and the others — recognized the unusual effect the moment had on him.

His head was still spinning, and clear thoughts were difficult to perceive. While he couldn't pinpoint the origin of his uncharacteristic behavior, he knew the most logical source. _Best give them a reason, otherwise they'll speculate._

He glanced at her. "This is the first time anyone has willingly celebrated my birthday."

"'Willingly?'" she repeated.

"My mother died giving birth to me. Needless to say, no one appreciated being reminded of her passing," Hans exposited. "My father and brothers only acknowledged my birthday out of obligation. If they could trade my life for my mother's, they would."

He glanced up again to find her studying him intently. "Natalia?"

"Has... has _anyone_ ever shown you _any_ love?"

He matched her stare.

 _Love?_ What was love, exactly? _People deceive themselves into believing it exists, but it's merely a senseless emotional state. It's only useful for controlling others._ Still, even as he denounced the concept, recent memories forced their way forward. From the first night he'd met them, these people had done nothing but give him the best they could give. _If_ _ **that's**_ _love, then..._

"Just you and your family," he murmured, returning to his aimless gazing.

She joined him at the rail. For a moment, all was still, save for the water and the breeze.

"Why don't you stay with us?"

Hans' head snapped left. "What?"

Natalia's earnest countenance was only augmented by the moonlight. "Why don't you live here, on the ship, and come with us when we leave?"

He knew what she meant without the explanation; he was simply surprised to hear her offer. "I can't," was his only response, looking away again.

He could feel her eyes boring into him before she spoke. "Whatever it is that keeps you here, I'm sure we could find a way to help you."

"No, you couldn't," he snapped. _Only Father can lift my sentence, and it'd take an act of God to change_ _ **his**_ _mind._

He noticed Natalia's slight tremble, and realized he'd upset her. "I'm sorry. I didn't intend to react harshly." He supported his weight on the rail and focused his attention on the tiny waves breaking against the ship.

A pair of arms slipped around his left one, and two hands clasped his own. He turned and found her face to be uncomfortably close.

She locked her gaze with his. "There's nothing you could ever do or say that would make us love you any less. We'll do whatever we can for you, so please don't be afraid to tell us if you need something — _anything_."

Despite his intense stare, Hans saw no trace of doubt in her. _Sweet, sincere Natalia..._

He almost believed her. Almost.

 _If you knew the truth, you'd make no such promise._

"I can't leave Købense," he began, breaking the silence, "but maybe your family could settle down here."

"I don't know," Natalia sighed, absentmindedly running her thumb over Hans' knuckles. "Everyone likes traveling around..."

"Everyone except you," Hans concluded from her tone.

"This is our life now," she stated. "Even if they _could_ change it, I wouldn't ask them to."

"You can change _your_ life, Natalia," he encouraged. "If you want to stay in the city, you could find some sort of employment or apprenticeship."

"I suppose," she mused, "but I'm not sure I would have the skills or strength for such a thing."

"Well, there's always the marriage option," Hans suggested. The topic was intentional, though he inwardly cringed at Natalia's stiffened, wide-eyed reaction. _This isn't going to end well._ "Which reminds me: how was last night with Pierre?"

She withdrew her arms and repeatedly smoothed her apron. "Uneventful."

"Is that good or bad?" Hans queried.

"Both," Natalia replied.

Her evasiveness frustrated him, but he was careful to remain chipper. "Stay optimistic. The next outing will be better," he reassured her.

She didn't respond.

"Are you two going to be up there all night?!" Leone's voice echoed from beneath them.

Natalia smiled at Hans. "Let's go back inside."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

1) According to my very quick research, _æbleflæsk_ is fried pork slices served with either a compote of apple, onion, and bacon or just apples that were fried in the fat.

2) Unfortunately, it's been two months since the last update. As per usual, I've been busy with average adult things, so that's part of the slowness. However, I think another reason is that the past few chapters were the least planned-out. I had a basic idea of what needed to happen, but the details weren't there. The next chapter is like that as well, and then we start to move into a part of the story that I've thought about a lot. Hopefully that will mean faster writing and updates, but no guarantees. Thanks for reading!


	16. The Favor

Waking in his cell was never pleasant, but this morning was particularly miserable. Hans lay still for a moment, assessing his surroundings. Satisfied everything was normal, he sat up. Wincing in discomfort, he rubbed his chest. It was oddly tight and heavy, as though he'd strained his muscles.

He pushed himself from the bed with a grunt. _That makes sense._ If he'd unwittingly injured himself during his labor yesterday, that would explain the flare of pain last night and the dull ache today.

His back to the bars, he swiftly unbuttoned his night shirt and applied cream across his torso. The additional moisture and massaging administration did little to ease the constricting sensation. He groaned and quickly changed into a set of work clothes. At least today was a hired day, so he could wear something more comfortable than his ragged royal vestments.

As he left the dungeon, he considered his plan for the day. Despite his decision to taper his time aboard _La Stella Luminosa_ , he had to visit today. It would appear incredibly rude for him to be absent after the family's overwhelming hospitality the previous evening.

 _They would understand, though._

He paused as the hidden door clicked closed behind him. They _were_ truly gracious people.

 _What if... I told them?_

He shook the thought away.

 _Don't be ridiculous. You know exactly what would happen. Even the kindest people have their limit._

* * *

He wiped his moist forehead on his damp sleeve. The Southern Isles weren't known for scorching summers, but high noon was proving brutal today. Part of him was regretting his customary undershirt, regardless of its necessity.

Hans sighed as he kneaded his chest with his knuckles. The morning ache had persisted despite stretching and cautious movements. He'd hoped his work would distract him, but it was too monotonous. The pain was constantly nudging the back of his mind.

Movement caught his attention. He looked up to see two figures entering the barn.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" Hans asked dryly as Pierre and Ulrik approached.

"Business, of course," Pierre replied.

Hans returned to his raking. "And it couldn't wait because...?"

"I invited Natalia out again, and she was... extremely reluctant. She wanted to think about it first."

Hans suspected "extremely reluctant" wasn't Pierre's first choice of descriptor, but opted against commenting on that particular point. "If she's hesitant, you haven't made any progress. You need to try a new tactic."

"Like what?" Pierre prompted.

Hans wondered if the man was truly this idiotic or if he was simply lazy. "Have you given her any gifts yet?"

"No," the merchant's son admitted. "I sort of... _used up_ my allowance for this month."

Hans raised his head while furrowing his brow. "Then how were you planning on taking Natalia out again?"

Pierre counted his points with his fingers. "Oh, I've got people who owe me favors, people who want me to put in a good word with my father, people who extend me a line of credit—"

"So why can't you use any of that to buy Natalia a present?" Hans interrupted.

"My father doesn't allow me to spend money at any shops serviced by competitors," Pierre explained, "and I have to pay upfront for anything from any of my father's stores."

Hans raised a skeptical brow.

"I once got myself in trouble with 'borrowing' items," Pierre added sheepishly, "so my father instated that rule."

Hans rolled his eyes. _This keeps getting increasingly complicated._ "So you can't purchase any gifts until next month. That makes things difficult."

"Actually," Pierre contradicted, "you could just buy something for her and say it's from me."

Hans stopped and stared, dumbfounded. "Were you dropped on your head as an infant?"

Pierre frowned. "No. Why?"

"I have no money and no access to anything of value," Hans elucidated as though he were instructing a small child. "How in God's Name am I supposed to _buy_ something?!"

"Oh." Pierre mulled this over for a moment. "Well, if you're clever enough to figure that out, I'll throw something extra into our deal for you."

Hans repeatedly rubbed his chest. This aggravating interaction had turned the ache into a throb. "And if I don't?"

"The presents are irrelevant. She just needs to agree to see me again." Pierre folded his arms. "If you can't do that much, the contract is void."

Hans considered cutting his losses. _Is this truly worth the hassle?_ Then again, a certain brother _did_ owe him a favor. _Should I really use it_ _ **now**_ _, though?_ Analyzing the benefits of a day of royal seal use versus successful completion of the agreement, he concluded their deal was better in the long-term.

"You'd better build me my own damn house for this," Hans muttered.

"I have something even better in mind," Pierre replied.

Hans shot him a confused look. "What?"

Pierre shook his head. "Never mind. Let's just get going on this next step forward."

Hans scoffed under his breath. _Easy for you to say._

* * *

"May I help?" Hans inquired upon boarding _La Stella Luminosa_. Mirella was wringing laundry, which Natalia then hung on the line to dry.

"No, thank you," Mirella declined. "In fact, this is almost done. Natalia, why don't you and Lars go read or something?"

Hans and Natalia simultaneously glanced at the heaping pile, then to each other. Hans smirked and shrugged.

Natalia also sensed that there was no arguing with her mother. "Alright, but please call if you need anything."

"Yes, yes," Mirella chirped, waving them off.

The younger woman sighed silently but smiled at her companion. "How has your day been?"

"Normal," the ex-prince replied as they entered the smaller cabin.

"Is 'normal' good?" Natalia asked.

Hans shrugged. "Not particularly." At her downcast expression, he added, "But being here is good."

She grinned. "So what do you think of _The Captain's Daughter_?"

"I _am_ enjoying it, as you said I would," he answered with a grin of his own. He picked up the book and sat by Natalia's bed.

She settled next to him. "I'm glad."

Hans parted the pages to the ribbon that marked his progress. He read a short paragraph before realizing Natalia hadn't moved. Looking up, he caught her staring at him. She blushed and began tracing the pattern on her quilt.

"Is something wrong?" Hans queried.

"No," she murmured, running her fingertip over the fabric. "It just makes me happy that you enjoy being with us."

Their eyes met. Hans merely smiled, unable to formulate a verbal response. They both looked away as clattering footsteps approached the door.

"Hi, Lars! Hi, Natalia!" Leone exclaimed breathlessly as he burst through the door.

"Hello, Leone," the two responded in unison.

"Guess what! Mrs. Connolloy gave us a chocolate cake!"

Natalia giggled as Hans smirked.

"I was curious as to the cause of your extra exuberance," the redhead remarked.

Leone laughed. "We get to have cake two nights in a row, and chocolate cake is my favorite! Have you had ganache filling before? It's amazing! Oh, but are you well enough to eat dessert? I hope so! You must be feeling better today, right?!"

"Yes—" The response was automatic, though his hand instinctively moved to his chest. "—I do." He paused, his fingers hovering a hair above the fabric. _I really_ _ **do**_ _feel better._ He hadn't noticed until this very moment that the ache was gone. His bewilderment quickly gave way to reason. _Being with them diverts my attention from my own thoughts. Of course they'd distract me from my physical pain as well._

"Are you sure?"

It was Leone who had spoken, but both siblings were watching him with concern.

"Absolutely," Hans answered.

Leone looked unconvinced. "Alright, but you have to promise to tell us if you start feeling ill."

Hans pressed his palm over his heart. "I promise."

* * *

The former prince perused an array of bolts in the seamstress' boutique. He'd made sure to finish his daily labor extra early so he would have enough time to shop in leisure. That had been a smart decision, considering how much time he'd spent in this store alone. _This is definitely outside my areas of expertise..._ Still, he'd worn a variety of fabrics in his lifetime. He was confident he could select an assortment that balanced quality and durability.

 _It's a good thing I'm doing this instead of Pierre. That clueless buffoon would surely pick the most useless items._ He chuckled to himself as he pictured Mirella's reaction in that scenario. _She'd certainly question his sensibility._ Hans paused in front of a sky blue material. _Though I suppose some high-end silk isn't a bad idea. Natalia does need a new evening gown._

He instructed the shopkeeper on the lengths of his current choices, then returned to his browsing. Another tidbit to consider was that anything he sent their way would benefit him as well. They had proved generous with little; they would surely be just as giving with plenty. _I'll have to make sure I send enough fabric for several men's outfits._ He suddenly envisioned Mirella's devious glee as she showed off matching clothing for Vincenzo, Leone, and himself. Hans grimaced. _Well, enough for_ _ **one**_ _article per swath._

* * *

Exiting the seamstress' shop, Hans ran down his mental list. _Food. Nautical supplies. Fishing tackle. Books. Sewing materials._ The last item was art supplies.

"Good afternoon!" the clerk greeted as the auburn-haired patron entered the stationary store. It was the same man that had been there during his previous visit with Leone, but Hans wasn't concerned with being recognized. If Natalia had mistaken his fashionably-dressed self for a non-existent brother, there was no possibility that a shopkeeper would question him.

Hans returned the pleasantry as he approached the rack he'd perused once before. He quickly selected two different-sized sketchbooks, then continued his shopping. It didn't take long, as he'd already planned out everything he intended to buy.

He placed his purchases on the counter. "Send the bill to the royal treasury," he instructed as he removed Damian's seal set from his coat's inner breast pocket.

"Of course, sir," the clerk acknowledged. He quickly wrote on a heavy paper, which he handed to Hans. "Shall I send the items to the castle, then?" he asked as Hans dripped burgundy wax onto the parchment.

"No," Hans replied. He extinguished the wax stick's wick and set it aside. "They're to be sent to a ship named _La Stella Luminosa_ ," he elaborated, pressing the seal into the semi-solid puddle, "except for these." He indicated the separated pile of paper, envelopes, ink, and pens. "I'll be taking these with me." He returned the small tin to his coat pocket.

"As you wish, sir."

* * *

Købense's postal office was extremely spacious and sophisticated, offering amenities such as a lounge, café, and private booths where one could read or write in peace. Hans — taking advantage of the latter — leaned back in his chair, examining the letter he had just finished.

 _It has come to my attention that one of the Westergaard horses has been missing from the royal stables for some time. The head stable hand has informed me that the stallion in question is a Norwegian fjord horse, gold in color with a black snout and hooves, and a black and white mane and tail. The horse is classically trained as a thoroughbred mount, and responds to the name 'Sitron.' We believe the steed accompanied (former) Prince Hans to Her Majesty Queen Elsa's coronation last July, but did not return with him._

 _Any assistance in resolving this matter is greatly appreciated._

 _Best Regards,_

 _HRH Prince Damian Westergaard_

Satisfied, Hans sealed the paper in an envelope. He knew better than to address it to Elsa or Anna. They would likely destroy the letter outright. Even if they did bother to read it, this matter wasn't worthy of a queen's or princess' time. No, the letter would go to Kai, the head servant. Kai had proven invaluable to Hans during Arendelle's surprise winter. The man knew everything, from the location of the winter items in storage to the best mountain travel routes. At first, Hans had thought the man's array of knowledge unusual, but it made sense upon further reflection. Arendelle was a small city in a small country. The royal staff was severely limited. King Agnarr and Queen Iduna had presumably spent large amounts of time dealing with Elsa's powers, and after their deaths neither Elsa nor Anna ever left the castle. Kai had dealt with much more than the average servant. He would know the answer to Hans' inquiry.

Hans stretched. _Of course, that doesn't mean I'll ever see a reply._ Still, he was satisfied with the day and the fact that he'd made the most of this rare opportunity. _Now I just have to wait and see if any of it bears fruit._

* * *

Natalia swallowed thickly as she trailed behind the housemaid. Strangers, new places, actually talking to people — all things that terrified her. She glanced aside, thankful Leone was with her.

"In here," the maid stated, opening the door to a drawing room. "Master Pierre will be with you momentarily."

"Thank you," the siblings said simultaneously.

The woman curtsied and left.

Natalia entered the room, examining it before she opted for a chair over the couch. Leone flopped down and sprawled out over the larger seat, but straightened upon receiving a disapproving glare from his sister.

She sighed, wringing her hands in her lap as she rehearsed her words for the hundredth time.

"Natalia!"

She bolted upright at the exclamation, practically jumping out of her skin in fright.

"It's good to see you," Pierre continued, oblivious to the girl's reaction. "Have you come to accept my invitation?"

"Ah— Er— Um—"

Her brother's hand grasped her shoulder as he spoke. "You sent us a lot of stuff."

"R-right," Natalia agreed. "Which was very kind of you, and we all thank you, of course. But it was too much. You really shouldn't have gone to such trouble."

Pierre's expression unsettled her. He appeared confused for a moment, then his lips broke into a grin that seemed more self-pleased than benevolent.

"It was nothing, truly," he asserted nonchalantly. "Simply a token of appreciation for our time together."

"Yeah, right," Leone scoffed under his breath.

Natalia hoped Pierre didn't hear her brother. "We're grateful to you, Pierre, but please don't send any more gifts."

"Why not?"

"I— Em—" Movement caught the corner of her eye. Leone was making small gesticulations with his hand, encouraging her to speak.

She took a deep breath. "I don't want you to spend money on me when I'm not even sure I enjoy being around you," she blurted.

Pierre said nothing. He only stared at Natalia.

 _Is he sad? Angry? I can't tell!_

Pierre turned to the other man. "May I have a moment alone with Natalia?"

Leone frowned as his eyes darted between the pair. Natalia gave him a slight nod.

"Fine," he grumbled, "but I'll be right outside."

Pierre watched the door close before facing Natalia.

"You care about your family, right?"

Her brows knit in confusion. "Of course!" she declared.

"Then you should marry me."

 _ **What?!**_ Her jaw dropped. _Is he_ _ **proposing**_ _?!_

Pierre noted her shock. "I know it's sudden, but this would be best for everyone. You wouldn't have to worry about overworking yourself, and you can send money to your parents every month."

Natalia fingered her sleeve cuff. _That... makes sense._ Her family would be better off if they didn't have to constantly watch over her, and any extra income would certainly help. Marrying Pierre would be a logical course of action. _But why would he suggest marriage after what I just told him? I don't understand..._

"What do you say?"

Her stomach knotted. She couldn't look at him, instead directing her gaze to a window as she twisted the cloth around her arm. "I... I don't know."

Pierre sighed. "I suppose it _is_ unreasonable to expect an answer right away." He stepped toward the closed entryway. "Just think about it. You're welcome here any time, so whenever you've decided, don't hesitate to call on me." He opened the door. "Alright?"

"Alright," Natalia whispered. "Good day." With a quick curtsy, she darted through the exit.


	17. The Rescue

Hans sat at his rickety table, thumbing a corner of Leone's Bible (or, rather, _his_ Bible). He hadn't touched it since bringing it home, though he was considering reading it tonight. Mostly due to boredom, but also because others' assumption that he studied Scripture would be a positive asset.

 _Not that I frequently entertain company._ As far as Hans knew, Damian hadn't visited the dungeon since the night he left his "gifts." The only human the ex-prince ever saw was Lieutenant Gunst, who was unusually tardy this evening.

The former royal flipped the pages until he reached the first chapter of Genesis. _Might as well start from the beginning._ Still, he delayed, staring absent-mindedly.

His stomach rumbled. One of the downsides to keeping his distance from Natalia was missing Mirella's food. He had some provisions stashed in a basket, but it wasn't the same as a hot meal. The food delivered from the kitchen was neither hot nor a meal, and usually left in his cell while he was out performing his labor. Every so often, the castle staff forgot about him entirely, and he'd get nothing. Today was one of those days, as he'd returned to an empty table. Thanks to his benefactors, though, he hadn't gone hungry in weeks. _As soon as Jesper leaves, I'll eat something from my stockpile._

His ears prickled at the sound of boots on the staircase. Hans furrowed his brow as the person continued their descent. The footsteps sounded heavier than Lieutenant Gunst's tread. _This is someone else._ He sprang to his feet and closed his cell door. It wouldn't lock without a key, but at least it appeared secure. He'd barely seated himself on his bed when the castle-side dungeon entrance opened.

Hans couldn't mask his surprise. "Captain Sorensen."

"Good evening, Prince Hans," the burly man replied pleasantly. He craned his neck, observing the hall. "Where's Lieutenant Gunst? This is his night in the rotation."

"He suddenly became ill and dashed outside," Hans lied.

Captain Sorensen frowned. "That's the fourth one this week," he muttered to himself before returning his eyes to Hans. "I'll send a replacement when I go back upstairs."

Hans nodded. The captain was clearly oblivious to the fact that the ex-prince hadn't been guarded in months. _If this is Gunst's weekly night shift, that explains why only he delivers my assignments._ Still, that didn't explain why he hadn't shown up tonight. _Perhaps he truly_ _ **is**_ _ill._

A light _clang!_ caught Hans' attention. He turned his head to see a tray sticking partway through the grated metal that comprised the hallway-facing wall of his cell. "What's this?"

"Your supper," Captain Sorensen answered.

Hans took the tray, examining the contents as he set it on the table. A tin cup of water was nestled in the corner. The centered plate held a gravy-covered meat, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Two slices of bread, a napkin, and silverware completed the ensemble.

Hans gave the captain a puzzled glance. "Are you sure this is mine?"

"Yes," the captain responded with a nod.

Hans cast a suspicious eye on the table. "Is it poisoned?"

"I'd hope not, since the kitchen staff thought it was for me!" Captain Sorensen exclaimed.

This only deepened Hans' confusion. The captain smiled.

"I went up to the kitchen to ask for dinner," he explained, "and while I was waiting, I saw a tray on a side table. It had bread, carrots, and an apple on it. None of it seemed edible, so I asked one of the cooks if he wanted me to throw it out. He said, 'No, that's for your prisoner. The maids and servants have been too busy to deliver it.' I took my tray and told them I'd take yours as well."

"So this is _your_ dinner?!" Hans motioned to the tray, disbelief evident in his tone.

"It's yours now," the captain declared.

"Why?" Hans demanded.

"Well, I'm pretty sure that apple had a worm in it—"

"No, _why_?" Hans repeated. "Why are you being... _nice_?"

Captain Sorensen smiled. "I ran into an old acquaintance recently. He saved my career back when I was a private. Meeting him again reminded me that the reason I'd worked so hard to become captain was so I could help others the way he helped me. That's why I'm here tonight. I realized I needed to reconnect with my men, so I'm going to start working some later shifts, both here and at the city office." He pointed to the tray. "Your food was a happy accident. Although, if what I threw out is what they always give you, I'm highly concerned."

Hans shrugged. "I'm sure someone was just lazy today." _Not wise to have Captain Sorensen draw attention to me by making a fuss over my food._ He sat at the table and picked up the fork and knife. _Better change the subject._ "May I ask, though, exactly how this acquaintance saved your career?"

"Of course," the captain replied. "It was after Queen Adela had been laid to rest..."

Hans flinched.

"I'm sorry," Captain Sorensen apologized.

Hans waved him off. "It's fine. Continue."

"Well, all sorts of nobility were staying at the castle. The staff was rather overwhelmed, between the guests and your family and the funeral details. Many of us privates were assigned tasks outside the scope of our normal duties. I was to oversee luggage transportation." The captain tapped his chin as he recalled the events. "Unfortunately, I got some things mixed up, and a load was sent to the wrong ship. No one realized it until the vessel had already departed. Needless to say, the owner of those possessions was _not_ pleased." Captain Sorensen cringed at the memory. "From the way he lit into me, I presumed he was royalty, though to this day I'm not sure. Either way, he went up one side of me and down the other. Called me every name in the book, went on and on about how the contents of those chests were worth more than what I'd make in a lifetime, said he'd make sure I never worked in the Southern Isles again, _et cetera_."

"A few names come to mind," Hans mused as he prepared another forkful of food.

Captain Sorensen chuckled. "Well, after what seemed like an eternity, a young man burst into the room with a roar of, ' _That's enough!_ ' He pulled some items from his pocket as he walked to a desk, and asked the enraged fellow, 'What was the total value of the lost cargo?' The owner gave a ridiculous number in an unfamiliar foreign currency, but the young man didn't hesitate. He scribbled something on a paper, then stamped a seal on it and handed it to the angry man. I realized it was some sort of promissory note. The owner grumbled, 'You're lucky,' before storming out of the room."

"Wow," Hans murmured.

"'Wow' indeed," the captain agreed. "I thanked the kind stranger profusely, but he only gave a simple, 'You're welcome,' before hurrying away. I later discovered he was a king himself! I hadn't seen him since, until a few days ago. I suppose Providence thought I needed a humbling reminder of my past."

Hans didn't have the opportunity to inquire further. A rapid scrambling noise on the stone steps alerted both men to a second visitor.

"Captain Sorensen!" the man shouted breathlessly as he threw open the wooden door. "I can't believe you've been down here this whole time! I've been searching _everywhere_ for you!"

"You make everything sound so dire, Ryberg," the captain scolded.

Hans suppressed a chuckle. First Lieutenant Ryberg was second-in-command of the Royal Guard. Hans hadn't interacted much with him as a royal (and not at all as a convict), but the man gave the impression of an overzealous, apprehensive boot-licker.

"I'm unable to fill all the gaps in the schedule, sir," the lieutenant complained.

"I'll take a look," Captain Sorensen sighed. He turned to the cell. "Have a good night, Prince Hans."

"You as well," Hans responded, "and thank you."

* * *

With no known schedule for the week, the only thing Hans could do was finish his daily chores at the palace stables. His chest ached as it had yesterday, but now he felt lightheaded and fatigued as well. He recalled Captain Sorensen's comment about the sick guards, and noticed there were fewer stable hands around than usual.

 _Wonderful. That's exactly what I need to add to this mess._ With any luck, he'd make it back from the Hole with enough time to get some extra sleep.

He hitched one of the palace work horses to the full cart, then tied the reins to a post. After a swift change of wardrobe, he retrieved the equine and headed for the nearest side gate.

* * *

With the load deposited at the fertilizer station, Hans retraced his steps as he made his way home. There was only one way in and out of the Hole, as most of the area was surrounded by steep bluffs. Heavy rain guaranteed flooding, the worst spots being the parts that dipped below sea level. The unfavorable terrain made the section undesirable from the first settlers, thus only the poorest or most reprehensible denizens lived between the cliffs.

Given that, it was a wonder none of the crown's property had ever been stolen. _Then again, I wouldn't know._ While he himself had never been robbed of steed or wagon, it could have happened before. In such a case, punishment would have been swift and harsh to serve as a warning to others. _That's the Westergaard way, after all._ Then again, it would be difficult to get away with a cart full of horse manure. The best chance to strike would be when the empty wagon was being returned to the castle, which he had never done. _I wonder why not._ It would be more efficient to have two carts, switching the empty for the full at the fertilizer station. _Why keep horse and cart overnight?_ Perhaps the horse was too tired to make the return trip right away. _Then why not get a new horse for the job?_ It could be that his predecessors had discovered it was safer to return in the morning. Another possibility was simple ignorance — no one had bothered to question the process. _Or maybe I'm overthinking it._

Hans massaged his temples. His head was starting to throb. _Now this too?_ Every new symptom increased the likelihood that he had the same illness as the absent sentries and stable hands. _That's just how my life goes._ He debated returning to the dungeon or stopping at _La Stella Luminosa_. The ship was docked in the section closest to the Hole (the sub-optimal location resulted in the lowest rent, though frequent and unpredictable police and guard patrols kept the harbor safe). He would be well cared for should he pay his benefactors a visit. However, if he worsened and became bedridden, someone might notice he wasn't at the royal stables tomorrow. Then they would check his cell, and if he wasn't there, it would be assumed he'd escaped. _I best go back._

"Why, if it isn't Prince Hans."

The voice behind him sounded vaguely familiar, but the ex-royal kept walking.

"Ignoring me, are you?"

Two men appeared from the shadows to block his path.

 _Oh no._

He glanced over his shoulder to see four figures. The one standing at the forefront of the group spoke again.

"Looks like your friend's not here today." He cracked his knuckles.

Hans rolled his eyes. "Have you nothing better to do than assault citizens for no reason?" He returned his focus to the pair before him.

"Hmmm," the gang leader hummed ostentatiously. "Nope."

Hans darted forward, aiming for the gap between the duo. As predicted, they closed it as they attempted to surround him. He swerved right, skirting past his enemies.

"Get 'im!" the Boss shouted, though they'd already begun their pursuit.

In the afternoon light, Hans wouldn't blunder as he had during their previous encounter. _If I can make it to the wharf, I'll be safe._ The gang wouldn't pick a fight where there were honorable citizens to witness it.

His legs started to falter. His head was pounding.

 _Just a bit farther._

The dirt beneath his feet transitioned to stone.

 _Three more steps..._

He stumbled as he lost consciousness.

* * *

Natalia tapped the side of her pencil against the bound blank pages. She _had_ needed a new sketchbook, and she was grateful to have received two (along with everything else from Pierre). However, she couldn't bring herself to make a single mark in either one.

She sighed and set her utensils next to her. Her mother had said it would be rude to refuse the gifts, despite the exorbitant quantity and assortment. Still, Natalia felt guilty. If she turned Pierre down, she wouldn't feel right keeping the items specifically designated to her.

The young woman leaned back, resting against the exterior wall of the master cabin. She hadn't told anyone about Pierre's proposal. Her family would be able to tell she was hesitant, and would be against it solely because she was unsure. If they discovered the reason behind the proposal, they would absolutely forbid the marriage. _They would never let me marry someone I didn't love._

They'd be right, of course — she should marry for love, not money. _But they wouldn't worry about my health if they knew I was taken care of. Besides, I'm not in love with anyone..._

A face appeared in her mind's eye.

 _... I think..._

She groaned. _I need to discuss everything with with Lars._

"Would ya quit dragging and get a move on?" a gruff voice barked from the pier.

"Shut up," another man hissed.

Natalia peeked over the staircase. Four men were carrying something while two others stood off to the side. The duo appeared to be watching for something, though one was being far less subtle about it. A few of the men seemed very apprehensive.

 _What's going on?_

The quartet grew closer to the dock. Natalia strained for a better view. One of the pair walking backwards misstepped and dropped his corner of the load.

"Watch it!" one of the men growled.

"Yeah, yeah," the responsible party grumbled as he pulled on a limp arm.

 _It's a body!_

"Can't we just dump him here?" a different man whispered.

"The Boss said to put 'im under the end of the dock," another replied.

 _They're dumping a dead body!_ She clasped her hands over her mouth and ducked out of sight. _What do I do? Lord, what do I do?_

Her breath was hot inside her shaking hands. _Calm down. Think this through_. Confronting them directly was out of the question, as she was the sole person on board. Mamma had run to the market for a missing ingredient, and Pappa and Leone were still at Mr. Connolloy's. Even if she could figure out how to signal for help, there wasn't anyone else docked near this end of the harbor.

 _There must be_ _ **something**_ _I can do._ Her eyes fell on her sketchbook. _I can memorize their faces and draw them for the police._ She poked her head above the stairs again.

A moan rose from amongst the group.

"Hurry," someone ordered. "He might wake up."

 _He's still alive!_ This changed the situation. It wasn't enough to identify the culprits. If she waited for them to leave, their victim could drown. _I have to stop them._

She scanned the opposite side of the wharf. No one was in the immediate vicinity, but there were figures in the distance. Her gaze flashed back to the criminals. They were out of sight, which meant they were almost to their goal. She backed herself into the corner. _Please let someone hear this._ With that, she drew in as much air as her lungs could hold.

" _ **AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"**_

There was instant confusion from the dock. Her heart sank as a _SPLASH!_ reached her ears. Thudding footsteps indicated a retreat.

 _I can't wait._ She dove for the railing before remembering the gangplank was up on deck. _No time for that._ She slid off the ship and landed hard on the dock. Scrambling to the edge, she saw a head bobbing in the water.

"Damn wench!"

She ignored the angry shout from the pier as she grabbed the drowning man's shirt. Only then did she see his face.

 _ **Lars!**_

Her head snapped left to check if any of the culprits remained. There was only one, bolting toward "the Hole" (as the locals called it). Natalia grimaced as she struggled to keep Lars afloat. He was completely limp. _Am I too late?_

A blur went flying into her field of vision, tackling the lone criminal to the ground.

 _Leone!_

"Let me go!" the scoundrel screamed, fighting to break free. "I didn't do anything!"

Leone drove the thug's face into the cobblestones. " _Don't move_ ," he snarled, " _unless you want to die_."

 _Leone..._

The weight in her arms lightened. "Pappa!" she squeaked. She hadn't even noticed her father.

"Are you hurt?" he grunted, lifting Lars from the sea.

"No," she responded. "Is he alive?"

"Everything will be fine," he reassured her as he laid Lars on the wooden planks.

Natalia nodded, yet still worried. Lars' lips were purple, and he didn't appear to be breathing. Her father began attempts to resuscitate him.

 _Please don't take him yet, Lord._

She glimpsed her brother peripherally and shuddered. His expression was frightening. _It's been years since he's acted this way._ She shook off the unsettling memories when Lars coughed.

Her father straightened to give the younger man some space. He sputtered and heaved before his breaths settled into a shallow rhythm.

"Stay with him, Natalia," Vincenzo commanded, propelling himself onto the ship.

Natalia sat next to the nearly-drowned man. His lips had returned to their normal color, but he still looked pale. She placed the back of her hand against his forehead. _He feels feverish._

A _THUD_ indicated the gangplank had been dropped. Vincenzo descended, holding coiled rope. He proceeded to bind the criminal's arms and legs. Father and son lifted the thug to his feet.

"I'll take care of this," the older man asserted. "You help your sister."

Leone joined Natalia on the dock while their father towed his captive out of view.

"How is he?" Leone inquired.

Natalia rested her palm on Lars' cheek. "Not good."

Lars' eyes cracked open. Glazed and unfocused, they closed again after a few seconds. Still, he remained breathing.

Leone picked him up.

"Set him on the deck," Natalia directed.

"Why?"

"Because he's soaking wet. This way, we can dry him off first, then change him in our room."

Leone frowned as he climbed the gangplank. "But then I have to move him twice. Why don't I just put him in there to start with?"

Natalia scowled, tailing her brother. "Because the floor will get wet and it'll be harder to get him into dry clothes without getting those wet too."

Leone forcefully expelled a puff of air. "Then why don't I set him next to your bed, we get him undressed, dry him, I move him toward my bed, and we put sleepwear on him?"

"That's still moving him twice," Natalia snipped, retrieving a bucket.

"But it's a shorter distance," Leone countered.

Natalia threw up her hands. "Fine."

"Fine."

The siblings entered their cabin. Natalia kneeled at Lars' head as Leone set him down. The young woman clutched her apron, her eyes watering. She felt her brother's hand on her shoulder.

"It'll be okay. Be strong for him."

Natalia wiped her face on her arm. "Right." She pushed up her sleeves and began unbuttoning Lars' shirt. Leone set to work on removing Lars' boots.

Despite her trembling fingers, she had no trouble with the buttons. After extracting Lars' arms, she tugged the cloth out from underneath him. She placed the article in the bucket, which she then held out to her brother for a boot and sock deposit.

Natalia turned her attention to Lars' undershirt. The soaked cotton clung to his torso like a second skin. She peeled it up and over his head, freeing it with a sharp yank. Dropping the dripping lump in the bucket, she grabbed a towel before turning back to Lars.

Her breath caught in her throat, the gasping wheeze sounding like something had knocked the wind out of her. Leone's head snapped up in fear, then dropped again as he followed his sister's line of sight.

Their friend's torso was a mottled mess of red, pink, and pale splotches. Some areas were shriveled, while others looked as though they were pulled too tight. The disfiguration covered most of his chest, starting just below the underarms and tapering off below his hips. The right edge of his upper body had been spared, with the worst of it concentrated to the middle of the left side.

Natalia dazedly reached out with the towel. _Is it a disease? An injury? What should we do?_

"It's a burn scar."

She snatched her hand back as she stared at her brother. "It is?"

Leone nodded solemnly. "An old one. You can see where the scar tissue stretched and cracked as he grew." He finally pried off the other boot. "Maybe he got trapped in a burning building?"

"His brothers..." Natalia clutched the towel to her bosom. "He once said his brothers made his life Hell."

Leone set his jaw. "Apparently, that was literal."

Natalia draped the towel over Lars' chest, then picked up a second one and began to dry his hair. "He has no one but us. What's going to happen if he stays here when we leave?"

Leone exhaled audibly. "I don't know."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

1) Based on some limited historical research and some author's literary license, here are the ranks I am using for the Southern Isles' Royal Guard (from highest to lowest):

Captain  
First Lieutenant  
Second Lieutenant  
Lieutenant  
Quartermaster Sergeant  
Quartermaster Corporal  
Quartermaster  
Sergeant  
Corporal  
Private

2) Unfortunately, this site does not allow images. On the other sites where this story is posted (AO3, dA, and Wattpad), I have gone through the chapters and added a little diagram of _La Stella Luminosa_ to make it easier to visualize that particular setting.

3) I want to note that I have been making minor edits to previous chapters (and will continue to do so as needed). Most of the changes were grammar or spelling corrections. The few that weren't do not have any impact on the overall plot. However, they _should_ clarify/amplify some minor hints/details, particularly when one reads the story as a whole after chapter 22 has been posted.

4) I'm really bad at replying to things in a timely manner, but I do read every review and I appreciate them all. Thank you to everyone who comments, and of course thank you to all who read this story.


	18. The Revelation

He couldn't open his eyes more than a slim slit between the lids. Everything felt heavy, sore, and hot. _What happened?_ He tried to recall something — anything — but his mind was similarly fatigued.

"You're awake!"

The soft yet bright voice prompted him to focus his gaze. _Natalia..._ His thoughts were muddled, but a sense of safety washed over him.

"Are you thirsty?"

Unable to respond, he managed a small sip from the cup held to his lips. A cool, moist cloth dabbed his forehead.

"Just rest. One of us will be right here if you need anything."

He drifted off to sleep once more.

* * *

"You're going to be fine, Lars."

She felt a tad silly whispering to him — he'd been asleep for hours. Then again, there was nothing to lose in doing so. If the periodic encouragement helped him in any way, it was worth acting nonsensically.

"Everything's alright now."

It was a miracle they'd saved him in the first place. However, he'd been in a very poor state, thus everyone spent the first night on pins and needles. By Heaven's grace, Lars survived, albeit with no improvement in his condition. The previous night had passed the same way. Today was the first time he'd moved, much to their relief. Her mother had checked him over after his brief wakening and concluded his fever was decreasing. Hopefully he would recover quickly once it was gone.

Natalia looked up. _Thank You, Lord._

During the worst of it, she'd unintentionally imagined losing him. The possibility was all too real, and she'd stifled her crying while pretending to sleep. Simply thinking about it caused tears to well up.

Natalia squinted at Lars to reassure herself. His breathing was rhythmic — much steadier than last night. His skin's hue appeared nearly normal, especially compared to yesterday's sickly shade.

 _What's that?_ She leaned closer to inspect several darker specks on his cheeks. _Oh! I never noticed he had freckles!_ The spots weren't extremely distinct, thus requiring encroachment to be seen. She giggled at her discovery of the cute little flecks. _Any other time, I either looked away, or there wasn't enough light to make out such fine minutiae._

Lars rotated his head so his right temple snuggled the pillow, resulting in a shift of his auburn locks. Natalia smiled as she instinctively brushed back some stray strands. _This is where I belong._

She stiffened, regaining her senses. Her heart skipped a beat and butterflies materialized in her abdomen.

 _Is this..._ _ **love**_ _?_

She retracted her hand. _Don't be ridiculous. He's only a dear friend... a brother, even._

Her insides were at odds with her brain over the validity of that notion.

Natalia slowly released a puff of air. _How can I be sure?_

She recalled the months after Leone's disappearance. _It's been years... When was the last time I thought about it?_ Despite the time lapse, the memories of distressing days and prayer-filled nights were still clear. Weeks were relived in seconds in her mind's eye, comparing the long-ago heartache to the worry of the past two days.

 _It's different._

She tried to picture rescuing Pierre from drowning and sitting by his bedside. Such a situation seemed outrageous, given his family's wealth — there would be servants, maids, doctors, and nurses tending to his health. _Just imagine he has no one... like Lars._ Natalia squinched her eyes shut and produced a mental image of herself hovering over a Pierre at death's door. She would be concerned for him as a fellow human being, of course, and more so because she knew him. _Still..._ It wasn't the same panic as realizing it was Lars in the water. It wasn't the same dread as the uncertainty of Lars surviving the night.

Visions drifted through her consciousness. Reading in silence. Discussing books. Talking about their daily lives. Filling pails at the well. Celebrating his birthday. Their sewing lesson. Dancing on the dock.

 _The happy times were unique, too. I haven't bonded with anyone like I have with him._

She entwined her fingers, her emotions solidifying.

 _I never dreamed of much for the future... but I know it includes_ _ **us**_ _, together._

She retrieved her used sketchbook and parted the bound paper. The evening of his party, he'd fallen asleep on the same bed in which he now rested. She'd taken the opportunity to practice from a live model, filling a few pages with both the entire scene and enlarged details. Only later had she noticed that the last page was comprised entirely of head sketches. _It's because he's easy on the eyes and interesting to draw._ At least, that's what she told herself at the time.

 _Was I already in love with him then?_

She studied his face.

 _I suppose it doesn't really matter_ _ **when**_ _it happened._

She flipped through the book until she reached a particular piece with an unfinished head.

 _What matters is what happens_ _ **now**_ _._

* * *

Natalia exited the cabin and spotted Leone sitting on the railing.

"Are you done for today?" she asked as she approached him.

Her brother nodded. "We got back a couple minutes ago. How's Lars?"

"Better, but not lucid. Will you watch over him for me?"

"Sure," Leone agreed, "but where are you going?" He pointed to the shawl around her shoulders.

"There's something I need to do," Natalia answered.

"I'll go with you. Mamma can take care of Lars," Leone declared.

Natalia shook her head. "No. I want to do this myself."

Leone frowned. "Then you at least need to tell me where you're going, just in case..."

He trailed off, but Natalia understood his meaning.

"I'm going to see Pierre," she replied, "and tell him that I don't want to marry him. In fact, I'd rather not see him again."

Leone's mouth broke into a grin. "That's great! I didn't like that guy. Completely not the right man for you."

"Oh?" Natalia smirked. "And who _is_ the right man for me?"

"A man you enjoy being around, and who enjoys being around you," Leone expounded. "A man who's at ease when he's with you, and in whose presence you feel free to be yourself."

Natalia couldn't help her reflexive glance towards the makeshift sick-bay.

"Someone like Laaaaars," Leone teased.

Natalia blushed, hiding her embarrassed smile with her shawl. "Yes."

Leone's jaw dropped in disbelief, and the two simply stared at each other for a moment.

"Woohoo!" Leone suddenly cheered as he sprang to his feet. "Finally!"

"'Finally?'" Natalia repeated.

"Well, it was obvious!" Leone insisted. "I mean, he brought out the 'you' I haven't seen since we were kids!"

Both siblings froze as the weight of Leone's words settled on them.

"I'm sorry," Natalia breathed. "I never realized—"

"It's fine," Leone interrupted, forcing a smile upon his distraught face. "You have nothing to apologize for. It was my fault. I know that."

"But you're not the same person, Leone." Natalia sniffed, her eyes beginning to water. "I didn't mean to make you feel guilty."

Leone sighed. "Every single thing about our lives reminds me of my guilt. Maybe... maybe that's why I like Lars so much. He distracts me, and he makes you like your old self. Perhaps he's not my friend at all. Maybe I'm only being selfish again."

"Hey!" Natalia exclaimed with a stamp of her foot. "I just said you're not the same person!"

Leone blinked in surprise at his sister's outburst, but Natalia ignored him and pressed on.

"You've _changed_. We all have. And the way things are now far surpasses what we had in the past, _because we have_ _ **each other**_. Please stop thinking that you have to make up for what we lost. We gained so much more."

Leone smiled despite the tears that threatened to escape. "You're right, as always."

"Not always," Natalia corrected, returning the expression. "I'm happy and proud that you're my brother, Leone. I love you."

The siblings wrapped each other in a hug. "I love you too, little sis," Leone murmured. He pulled back and clapped Natalia's shoulder. "Now, go say goodbye to that Pierre guy as fast as you can! You need to be tending to your future husband's health!"

"Leone!" Natalia gasped, reddening as she darted for the gangplank.

Leone's laugh echoed over the ship. "I know I'm right about that!"

* * *

She found herself being escorted to the same parlor as her previous visit.

 _I need to be quick about this._

Thankfully, she didn't have to wait long.

"Natalia!" Pierre greeted. "Have you made a decision?"

"I have," she replied, "and my answer is, 'no.' Not only that, but I believe it's best that we go our separate ways."

His face fell. "I see. May I ask why?"

"God has always provided for our family. I need to be faithful to what's important, not take matters into my own hands and marry for wealth. I honestly wish you the best. I'm certain there's a woman out there who will find you fascinating and love chatting to your heart's content. I, on the other hand, am a very nervous person. It's not easy for me to speak openly with you, and we have nothing in common. I don't think we're meant to be anything more than very casual acquaintances."

Pierre stroked his chin. "So you would marry for love, then?"

Natalia shifted her weight. _Why is he so fixated on the marriage part?_ "Well, that's not the only factor, but, yes, I certainly need to love the man I wed."

"Do you have someone specific in mind?"

"Perhaps," she acknowledged evasively. She wasn't comfortable with this line of questioning.

"It's not Lars, is it?"

She flinched, unable to control the flush spreading over her cheeks.

"I was afraid of this," Pierre huffed.

"And what's wrong with it?" she demanded defensively.

Pierre crossed his arms. "Do you remember my friend, Ulrik?"

Natalia gave a single nod. "Yes. Why?"

"He's a royal guard. He couldn't shake the suspicion that he'd seen Lars before—"

Natalia's stomach flipped. She _definitely_ didn't like where this conversation was going.

"—but he didn't say anything because he couldn't be sure." Pierre exhaled purposefully. "He stopped over not an hour ago and told me he'd figured it out. Lars... isn't Lars."

She perceived a distinct draining sensation — the color leaving her face. "What do you mean?"

"His name is Hans. He _was_ a prince of the Southern Isles, until last year."

He paused, seemingly waiting for Natalia to inquire further. Her tongue refused to cooperate.

"From what I hear," Pierre continued, "he committed treason and attempted murder while abroad."

" _M-murder?_ " Natalia squeaked, her eyes like saucers.

"The queen and princess of Arendelle," Pierre specified. "Anyway, they sent Hans home for punishment. His family disowned him and sentenced him to manual labor."

She couldn't move. Her blood had gone cold.

"Also," Pierre added, "Hans is missing."

"Since when?"

"Yesterday," Pierre stated. "The guards have been quietly searching for him day and night." He lifted an eyebrow at the young woman. "A bit of advice: if you know where he is, tell the police or Royal Guard. You don't want to be caught helping him."

Natalia didn't respond.

"I know this is a lot to take in. I was quite shocked myself." He unfolded his arms. "You're still welcome to come here anytime, for any reason."

"O-oh, t-thank you." She turned to leave.

"I mean it. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."

"Okay," she whispered, slipping into the hall.

The air was stifling, suffocating her. She dashed for the front door, snatching her shawl from the waiting maid. She didn't stop until she passed the main gate.

She wanted to collapse, but forced herself to keep going. An invisible haze seemed to constrict her. Nauseous and lead-footed, she trudged down the street.

 _It can't be true... can it?_ This "Hans" sounded so foreign from the Lars she'd come to know. Plus, she couldn't help but consider the convenient timing of this revelation.

 _There must be some way to investigate his claims._ However, she couldn't ask just anyone. She needed to find somebody she could trust for the truth. _Mrs. Connolloy._ The family friend _did_ enjoy her gossip. _She's sure to have heard of any royal scandals._ If nothing else, it was the best place to start.


	19. The Confrontation

The color of the sunlight indicated dusk was near. He rubbed his eyes and looked to the side.

"Hi!" Leone greeted. "How do you feel?"

Hans grunted as he propped up his torso with his elbows. "Stiff."

"Need a hand?" Leone offered.

"I can manage," Hans declined, maneuvering to the edge of the mattress. He attempted to slide out of the lower bunk, only to be snared by the sheet and fall face-first on the floor.

"Lars!" Leone dropped to the redhead's side. "Are you alright?"

Hans groaned and rubbed his nose (which was likely the same shade as his hair at the moment). "I'll survive."

"Good," Leone stated, untangling his friend's legs, "because we can't have you dying from _this_ , of all things."

Hans allowed the man to help him to his feet. "If smacking my head on the floor takes me out of this world, I didn't deserve to be in it."

Leone grimaced. "That's depressing." He opened the chest at the foot of the bed. "Seriously, we were afraid we'd lose you."

Hans rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the partially-covered window. Even when he was royalty, no one would have cared if he died. He was, after all, worth less than nothing, being a thirteenth prince who'd inadvertently caused his own mother's death. _But now..._

"Here." Leone held out a stack of folded garments.

Hans looked down and realized he was in a nightgown. The implication hit him like a brick. "You changed my clothes."

"Of course we did. You were soaking wet."

Hans cocked his head. "I was?"

"Remember those guys that attacked you the night we met? Natalia caught them trying to dump you in the harbor. Well, I guess 'trying' isn't the right word, since they _did_ , but that was probably because Natalia screamed. Pappa and I were almost home, so we came running, captured one of the men — that's how I knew it was the same gang — and saved you."

"... Oh." He only recalled being chased. The rest was news to him. _The thugs must have decided it was faster to dispose of me in the bay than drag me back into the Hole._

"That was the day before yesterday. You've been asleep until now."

The ex-prince groaned inwardly. _Maybe luck will be on my side and no one noticed my absence. I could return to my cell and work tomorrow as though nothing happened._

"Are you upset?"

Hans blinked in confusion. "Why would I be upset?"

"Invasion of privacy," Leone clarified.

Hans reflexively touched his chest. "I'm fine." He took the pile from Leone, setting it on the upper bunk. "It was unavoidable."

Leone closed the trunk, then sat upon the lid, facing the door. Hans pulled the gown over his head.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," Leone prefaced, "but Natalia guessed your brothers were responsible."

"Well, not all of them," Hans murmured, rubbing the scarred skin. "Just the twins."

"So you've got twins in your family too," Leone commented.

"Yeah," Hans muttered.

Leone seemed to pick up on his friend's discomfort. "Mamma has two sets of twin siblings that are older than her. Well, all her siblings are older than her. She's the youngest of thirteen — seven boys, six girls."

Hans noted their shared position with a tiny smirk. "Is that why she always makes enough food to feed an army?" he chuckled.

"Probably!" Leone chortled. "My grandmother said Mamma always wandered off to watch the cook or the seamstress or the gardener or the maids. I'm sure she learned from them."

"She's a very capable individual. It makes her a great mother," Hans complimented.

"Yeah." Leone leaned back. "I think she wanted a big family like hers. Whenever I caused her grief, she'd say, 'The Lord knew best when He only gave me two children. You get into enough trouble for ten!'"

Hans laughed. "I'm surprised I haven't heard that remark, given some of your antics."

Leone became downcast. "I'm not as bad as I used to be."

Hans perched on the stool, socks and boots in hand. _That's right, gambling and every other vice that goes with it. I should avoid delving into that topic any further._ "Do you see your relatives often?"

"Not particularly," Leone answered. "We travel around too much. We usually gather together with Mamma's side every other Christmas."

"What about your father's family?"

"Pappa's an only child, and his parents died when he was eighteen. Everyone else doesn't really care to interact with us ever since... well, I guess they view us as 'beneath them' now."

Hans stood, checking his reflection in the mirror. "I can relate."

The door creaked. Hans pivoted to find Natalia in the entryway.

"Hey there, sis!" Leone greeted. "Look who's up and about!"

Her surprise melted into a feeble smile. "That's great." Her focus fixed on Hans. "I have to speak with you, if you're well enough for conversation."

 _Something's not right._ "Certainly."

Her gaze returned to her brother. "It must be us alone, please."

"Sure thing." Leone grinned and gave Natalia an obvious wink before trotting out of the cabin.

 _I don't think those two are on the same page..._

Natalia closed the door behind him. She paused, seemingly collecting her thoughts prior to facing Hans. She turned abruptly, and his chest tightened at her appearance. Her jaw was set, her back rigid, her arms straight at her sides, and her hands gripped her dress.

 _She knows._

They stared at each other. Hans kept his expression neutral.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she began. "Truly, I am. No matter what happens, rest assured that I care about you."

 _Not how I was expecting this conversation to start. Perhaps she doesn't know everything._

"I appreciate the sentiment," Hans responded. "Now, it's clear something's troubling you—"

"Please don't patronize me," Natalia interrupted. "I know you've already figured it out."

Hans remained emotionless. "What do you want?"

"Tell me the truth." Her voice cracked on the last word.

"It sounds as though you already know it," he dismissed her.

"I want to hear it from you," she insisted.

Hans shoved his hands into his pockets. "May I first inquire as to how you uncovered my ruse?"

Natalia bit her lower lip. "Pierre told me, but I confirmed the story with several other sources."

He slowly returned to the stool to give himself time to think. _Natalia must have finally outright rejected Pierre's invitation. The cretin didn't have to tattle on me, though. Still, I can explain my way out of this._

"I was formerly Prince Hans Westergaard, thirteenth son of King Lauris of the Southern Isles. However, I was stripped of my title and disowned by my family after a certain incident in Arendelle."

Natalia bristled. "You almost murdered two women!"

"I did _not_ raise my hand against Anna," Hans scoffed. "I simply left her to the fate her _sister_ inflicted on her. As for Elsa, she essentially killed her own sister _and_ subjects with her icy magic. I merely did what was necessary."

"You went into Arendelle aiming for the throne," Natalia protested.

Hans shrugged. "Who wouldn't? The fact remains that I could not save Anna, and I had the authority to put an end to a legitimate threat. If I'd succeeded, my personal motives would not have been scrutinized." His vision aimlessly wandered the room. "To this day, I don't know exactly _how_ I was prevented from prevailing. I presume it was due to Elsa's abilities, but I can't be sure." He adjusted his collar. "In any case, Elsa's curse was somehow reversed. I was sent home in disgrace and sentenced to the life of a stable hand." His eyes rested on Natalia once more. "That's the basics of it."

Natalia released an audible exhalation. "Why didn't you tell us?"

She'd walked right into his setup. _Time to deliver the dramatics._

His countenance became sullen, his gaze sinking to the floor. "I was afraid. People barely tolerated me in my former life. They gave me the courtesy of a royal, but it was all platitudes as I didn't have any real power. Once I lost my position, no one needed to pay me any mind. In fact, as a criminal, they could do far worse to me than they could to the average citizen." He raised his head. "You and your family have been the only ones to show me any kindness. I didn't want to lose that."

Natalia thinned her lips. "I understand if that was your reasoning—"

Hans' face brightened.

"—when we first met."

He furrowed his brow.

Natalia inhaled sharply. "But with all we've been through, knowing that we love you no matter what, after I specifically said you could tell us anything without fear..." She fixed her pupils on his. " _Why didn't you trust us?_ " Tears rolled down her red cheeks " _Why didn't you trust_ _ **me**_ _?_ "

Her words were a dagger he was utterly unprepared for. His stomach knotted as the stabbing sensation shot across his midsection. He clutched his abdomen in agony.

In the blink of eye, she was on her knees, her hands over his. "Are you alright?!"

He peered at her. _She's still concerned?_ The invisible knife twisted in his side. _She should be screaming that she hates me... irate that I used her... crying that I betrayed her..._ The weight of the air was crushing. _It makes no sense._ He couldn't take a breath. _What's going on?_ The affliction felt familiar, but he'd certainly never experienced this intensity. _What_ _ **is**_ _this?_ Without searching, a memory popped into his mind.

 _'If only there was someone out there who loved you.'_

The last piece of a puzzle fell into place.

 _ **Guilt.**_ _This is_ _ **guilt**_ _._

"You vapid, brainless doormat," he snarled. "You discover you've been duped, and your impulse is to weep over unrequited trust and appear anguished about my every twinge? This is precisely why you were so easy to deceive!"

Her chin quivered. "Lars—"

"'Lars' doesn't exist!" A dark snicker escaped his lips. "His entire being was a complete fabrication!"

Trembling, she placed her right palm over his heart. "I don't believe that."

"Believe what you wish," he sneered, standing. "It matters not."

Natalia lost her balance at his sudden movement. "Eep!" She struggled to recover as Hans strode towards the door. "Wait!"

"I can show myself out."

"The guards are looking for you!" she huffed, scrambling to her feet.

He hesitated, the doorknob closed in his fist.

"Don't go," she pleaded. "We—"

"You're pathetic," he spat. With that, he threw open the door and dashed for the bow.

"Lars— Hans— Stop!"

Her cries echoed after him, but he'd already vaulted the railing. He could hear commotion on the deck, then the sound of someone chasing him. _They won't catch me._ He'd had too great of a head start. He glimpsed _La Stella Luminosa_ one last time before he disappeared from the wharf.

 _ **No one**_ _will have that kind of power over_ _ **me**_ _._

* * *

Anna had returned, but her state did little to ease the worry that had mounted in her absence. Shivering and ice cold, with her normally amber-red hair half white, the princess's physical condition wasn't helped by her distinctly distraught and desperate demeanor. _This doesn't look good._

Hans studied her apprehensively. "What happened out there?"

Anna's alarmed eyes met his. "Elsa struck me with her powers."

His confusion was evident. "You said she'd never hurt you."

"I was wrong."

Hans caught her as she crumpled in pain. "Anna!" He scooped her up in his arms.

 _Anna obviously doesn't know Elsa as well as she thought she did. If the queen will go so far as to injure her own sister, no one is safe._

He laid the princess on the nearby couch.

"She froze my heart," Anna continued, "and only an act of true love can save me."

 _True love?_ Such a thing only existed on the pages of the fables he'd read as a naïve child. _Ah, of course._ Understanding illuminated his face. "A true love's kiss."

 _This won't work. Still, I must play the part._

He caressed her cheek. _When she questions its ineffectiveness, I'll insist that I love her, but lament that real life doesn't work like fairy tales._

His fingertips glided down to her chin. _I could suggest marrying right here and now, but she probably won't last that long. Plus, if she were to refuse, that would cause problems, especially if the witnesses were already present._

He tilted her head up. _I'll tell her I'm going to fetch Elsa from the dungeon, implore her to wait for me, stealthily lock the door, and wait for her inevitable passing. Then I'll inform the dignitaries that we exchanged our wedding vows just prior to her untimely demise at her sister's hands. I'm sure they'll agree that Elsa must be punished for treason. The Snow Queen's reign and this winter will end simultaneously. Then I will lead this country in a manner worthy of admiration and respect._

Hans slowly leaned toward Anna. _It's a shame we couldn't rule together. But since there's no way to save her, this is for the best._

He stopped, a sickly sensation squirming through his insides. _She'll drift off to sleep believing I'll arrive any second to fix everything. She'll go peacefully._

He felt worse. His brow creased. _She simply has to die, and no one will be the wiser._

His eyes opened and scanned her hopeful, waiting face. _Even if she_ _ **did**_ _detect my true intentions, as long as she's isolated she'll take the secret to her grave._

His expression darkened. _Why waste this opportunity?_

"Oh, Anna." He paused to exhale with an insidious smirk. "If only there was someone out there who loved you." He strolled to the window, savoring the unmitigated shock she'd shown him.

"Y-you said you did."

There was still a glimmer of optimism in her voice. _Just like all the times I begged the twins to cease their torment. They would feign penitence, and for a moment I would dare to believe they were actually going to heed my pleas._ He examined his smug reflection. _I'm going to enjoy crushing her._ For once in his life, _he_ was the one in control.

"As thirteenth in line in my own kingdom, I didn't stand a chance." _Every avenue was sealed off._ He turned away from the now-curtained glass and removed his right glove. _I will_ _ **not**_ _spend the rest of my life as a worthless_ _ **spare**_ _._ "I knew I'd have to marry into the throne _somewhere_ —"

Anna stared at him in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

 _Any signs of life will draw attention to the room._ He licked his index finger and extinguished the lone candle. _The dearly departed don't use Earthly light._ "As heir, Elsa was preferable, of course, but no one was getting anywhere with her. But _you_ , you were so desperate for love you were willing to marry me, just like _that_."

He retrieved the pitcher of water that had been set out for the gathered foreigners. _Dead bodies don't require warmth, either._ "I figured, after we married, I'd have to stage a little _accident_ for Elsa." That was the most unsavory part of pursuing Anna, but the Westergaards had done far worse for far less. _This is nothing in comparison._ He emptied the container's contents into the fireplace. The flames faded.

"Hans!" She reached for him, tumbling off the couch. "No, stop..."

He ignored her. "But then she doomed herself, and you were dumb enough to go after her." He replaced the pitcher, chuckling as he relished his superior intellect. "All that's left now is to kill Elsa and bring back summer." He drew near the fallen princess.

"You're no match for Elsa," Anna growled.

He went down on one knee before she completed the sentence. "No—" He lifted her chin so she could see his seriousness. "— _you're_ no match for Elsa." She'd proved _that_ quite spectacularly.

Anna wrenched her face away in disgust.

 _She doesn't know what Elsa's capable of._ Considering _he_ had snapped the queen out of a deadly fury, he had no doubts about _his_ ability to handle her. " _I_ , on the other hand, am the _hero_ who is going to save Arendelle from _destruction_." He'd risen to his feet again, replacing his glove with a confident tug. _Victory is within my grasp._ He headed for the exit.

"You won't get away with this." Anna's threat was hardly intimidating, given her fragile form.

Hans sighed condescendingly as he opened the door. "Oh—" He turned back to her with a fraudulent smile. "—I already have." He slipped through the gap, closing and locking the door as he did. He gave the handle a rattle to ensure it was secure.

He observed the hallway. There wasn't a soul in sight.

 _Perfect._

The doorknobs wiggled, his captive apparently trying to escape. A hoarse whisper wafted through the cracks. "Please, somebody help."

He pushed down the bile that had risen in his throat. _There's no turning back now._ He deafened his ears to her faint cries and hurried away, preparing to face the dignitaries that were surely expecting him. _The sooner this is finished, the better._

* * *

Hans gazed at the stones under his boots. He wasn't one to dwell on the past. However, because he'd made the connection, it was inescapable.

He'd previously reasoned his crucial mistake was due to arrogance. While that was partially true, it had been guilt that initially triggered his exposition. Perhaps he'd dreaded his solitary hours being haunted by Anna's trusting smile. Maybe part of him had regretted losing the first person to so thoroughly trust him. Whatever the case, once he'd perceived that prick to his psyche, he'd attempted to soothe it. That, in turn, had led his mind down the trail that concluded he could boast of his genius without consequence.

His reaction was fiercer this time, though. He'd identified the feeling he'd previously ignored, and this realization filled him with rage. It was mostly directed at himself for the ridiculousness of it. He had no reason to be contrite; he'd merely acted according to his best interests. Yet he _had_ felt conviction, which made him vulnerable to manipulation by the very people he wished to exploit. _Although, I can't imagine Natalia behaving in any sort of conniving fashion..._

The root of the problem was that he'd felt any remorse at all. _I had to fight it._ If he'd granted such weakness a foothold, there may have been issues later on. He could have doubted his decisions, or become swayed by frivolity versus exercising prudence. Unfortunately, endeavoring to rely on logic (by denying guilt an entry point) had produced the opposite effect. In order to suppress his conflicted conscious, he'd allowed ego or anger to take over, instead of proceeding with his strategy. He'd only further proven emotions were irrational and clouded one's judgment. _My most terrible decisions were executed out of base sentiments before I could determine the correct course of action._

He shook his head. _Forget it. What's done is done. It's time to move forward. If my disappearance has been kept secret by those who neglected my supervision in the first place, I can return to my life as it was before this whole mess began._ He surveyed his surroundings. He hadn't concentrated on his travel, but his body had automatically taken his customary course to return to the castle. While his path combined efficiency with stealth, he needed to to be extra careful tonight. If the guards were indeed looking for him, as Natalia had warned, caution was necessary. His head swiveled, examining the street. The area was presently deserted. _I must be wary of any approaching figures—_

"Hello, Hans."

He jumped, but recognized the voice.

— _and anticipate an ambush without arousing suspicion._ His mind couldn't help but complete the thought as he confronted the man in the alleyway shadows.

"Sneaking up on a fellow is quite the churlish habit, Pierre," Hans scolded, stepping into the lane between the buildings.

Pierre glared in annoyance. "I don't know what that means, but I'll bet it's something you don't have the moral standing to declare."

Hans rolled his eyes. "Why are you here?"

"Well, as you may recall from our second meeting, I know your usual route between the harbor and castle. One of the many benefits of having a friend who's a royal guard."

"Speaking of Ulrik, I see you're lacking his company tonight," Hans observed.

"He's not far," Pierre replied. "Anyway, I wanted to talk to you."

"About why you told Natalia my true identity?" Hans kicked a pebble. "Even if she refused to see you again, you could have asked me to persuade her."

"No, she made it quite clear our relationship was through. Besides," Pierre added, "I couldn't just stand back and let your deception continue!" His indignant tone was clearly mocking.

"Conveniently skipping over your own duplicity, of course," Hans retorted.

"Naturally." Pierre flicked his suspenders. "You're an outcast criminal. I'm an upstanding citizen. No need to indict myself."

"Our contract will do that for you," Hans quipped.

"Oh, _that_." Pierre plucked a charred piece of paper from his pocket. "Here's what's left of it."

Hans snatched the shred from Pierre's fingers. It was his own signature. "This... how...?"

"Ulrik's good at finding stuff," Pierre informed the stammering man. "You wouldn't even know he's looking, because he has a perfect memory and leaves things exactly as they were. There's only so many places you have access to that would be safe for hiding something important."

Hans seethed as he fought to keep his hands from shaking. The parchment had been in one of the many ammunition boxes in the barn's weapon storage closet. It was the best water- and insect-proof location. He'd verified the parchment's preservation every now and then, but not too often, lest someone investigate. _Ulrik must have stolen it after my last check._

"I set the thing on fire," Pierre continued, "but while it was burning, it occurred to me that you wouldn't believe me without confirming it for yourself. So I saved you the trouble. Courteous, am I not?"

Hans narrowed his eyes. "What are you planning?"

"Nothing," Pierre rebuffed. "I'm simply letting nature take its course. You've been caught lying, and you have nothing to prove we had any connection. Natalia will cut you out of her life, if she hasn't already. Then I will play the concerned party, consoling her in her hour of despair. I'm sure my support will endear me to her. And from there... well, who knows?"

"You're an absolute fool if you believe _you_ can trick her so easily," Hans rebuked him.

"If you can do it, so can I," Pierre bragged.

Hans scoffed. "As though a half-witted imbecile such as yourself could match my brilliance."

"You're just jealous that the fox was outwitted by the hound."

Hans shrugged, unimpressed. "Did you seek me out for the sole purpose of gloating? If so, you're wasting my time."

"As though I could ' _waste_ ' something worthless." Pierre started sniggering. "You know, you really _are_ unlucky number thirteen!" he derided. "You'll be worse off than you were to start with! If only you'd tried a _liiittle_ harder to help me. It's too bad, especially since I was going to let you have Natalia when I was done with her."

His insinuation slapped Hans across the face. " _What?!_ "

Pierre carried on, undeterred. "A prude like her is only fun for so long. After the novelty wore off, I'd invent reasons to be out late, travel abroad, and so on. It'd be only natural for her to find _solace_ in the _arms_ of a _dear_ _ **friend**_."

 _ **CRACK!**_

The next thing Hans knew, Pierre was laid flat in the dirt, receiving pummeling blows from the ex-prince's fists.

 _"Help!"_ Pierre choked, unable to defend himself against the onslaught.

 **"Stop!"** The order came from Ulrik, who appeared at the other end of the alleyway and ran toward the pair. Another man became visible behind him. Despite the dim light, Hans espied a Royal Guard uniform.

 _Oh no._

He bolted.

 _What have I done?_

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

1) I remember people making a big deal about Hans being the thirteenth child (as in, "That's _so many_ kids!") when _Frozen_ debuted. However, large families were much more common back in "the olden days" ( _Frozen_ is set in the 1840s). Perhaps it was less common for royal families to be that large, but large families in general wouldn't have been a shock to anyone living in the time period. That's why Hans doesn't make a big deal out of Mirella's family size.

2) Ever since I created her, Mirella's backstory has involved her being from a huge family (both immediate and extended). Her specific place among her siblings was taken from one of my great-grandmothers, who was the youngest of 13 children.

(Interestingly, also like Hans, the next oldest siblings above my great-grandmother were twins [albeit girls]. However, my OCs Derrick and Damian [brothers #11 and #12 respectively] weren't based on that fact. [They also weren't based on _A Frozen Heart_ , as I had made up my OCs for Hans' brothers long before that book came out.] They were made twins in order to further isolate Hans from his brothers [as twins would be more exclusionary towards a younger brother than single births (at least in the Westergaard environment)]. {Although, in _Frozen: Fire and Fury_ , I made Damian #11 and Derrick #12, and they aren't twins. [It made more sense when considering Derrick's past in that universe.] Hans still ends up isolated, though that's not explored nearly as much in _F:FaF_ as it is here in _F:SaF_.})

3) It's been over two years since I posted the first chapter of this fanfic. I regret that it's taken me this long to get to these climax chapters, and we're only a little over halfway through the plot. A big thank you to all readers for your support of and patience with this story!


	20. The Intervention

_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

He had no idea how far he'd gone before exhaustion set in. Still, he forced his legs to move in an attempt to put as much distance as possible between himself and the scene of the crime.

 _Calm down._

His mental command failed. His heart was racing and his ears were buzzing.

 _Why didn't I simply walk away?_ He'd only added to his troubles with his rashness. This was the second time he'd lost control in under an hour. _Why are my emotions getting the better of me today?_ With Natalia, it had been guilt. With Pierre, the feeling was less clear, but "revulsion" would be a logical hypothesis. _Whatever it was, it was a mistake. I must still be drained from that sickness... and running for my life... and nearly drowning..._ Given all that had occurred, it was no wonder he was having such difficulty restraining his impulses.

 _But that changes nothing._ Even if he _could_ justify his actions, no one would care _why_ he'd attacked Pierre. It was the word of a convict over the claims of the son of an influential businessman. Plus, a guard had witnessed the act.

Hans rubbed his temples. He'd thoroughly destroyed any chance of carrying on as though he'd never gone missing. He shuddered to think what new punishment awaited him after his father and brothers were notified of his conduct.

A sudden gust jolted him back to reality. He'd returned to the harbor without realizing it.

 _I need to leave._

His body refused to respond.

 _There's nowhere to go._

His gaze drifted to the water.

 _Maybe I should just throw myself into the sea._

The thumping of running reached his ears, and he instinctively turned in the direction of the sound.

"Lars!"

The source of the yell was a panting Leone, who came to a stop in front of him.

"Er, sorry, 'Hans,' unless you want me to call you 'Lars.'" The foreigner smiled despite his gasping breath.

"No, I— Why are you here?"

"I— Whew— I'm not used to sprinting— I saw you, but I worried you'd run away if I called out, so I dashed over—"

"But _why_?" Hans interrupted. "Didn't Natalia tell you...?" He couldn't bring himself to specify.

"Oh, well, _yeah_ —" Leone heaved, "—but I could've heard it for myself if Mamma had just let me eavesdrop like I wanted." He straightened, his breath beginning to slow. "Then I would've busted in there to hug you before you had the chance to make your theatrical escape."

"... _What?_ " Once again, Hans was left genuinely bewildered by the man.

"Just come with me." Leone gripped Hans' shoulders.

Hans nodded, lacking the strength to physically resist. Leone grinned and doubled back, tugging Hans along by his upper arm.

"I'm glad I stayed on deck," the brunette mused. "I tried to go after you earlier, but I lost your trail. Pappa said it would be too difficult to track you at night in your home city. We were going to look for you at first light, then go to the castle if we couldn't find you."

It occurred to Hans that perhaps they wanted to find him in order to punish him. _That's what anyone else would do._ Still, he knew better. There was no malice in Leone's voice. In fact, it seemed to be a mix of worry and relief. The hold on his arm wasn't tight — it was a guide, not a threat. These people weren't "anyone else." _I needn't worry... about_ _ **them**_ _, at least..._

They alighted on the deck as the rest of the family emerged from the master cabin.

"I _knew_ I heard two pairs of feet!" Mirella commended herself.

Vincenzo laid a hand on Hans' shoulder. "Let's go inside and talk."

Hans shook his head. "Whatever you have to say is irrelevant." His stomach twisted. _Physical resistance is one thing. Mental fortitude is another. If Natalia's words can instill guilt, I don't want to test my resolve against all four of them._ "Besides, I won't be staying long."

"Why not?" Natalia questioned.

Hans stared at the planks beneath him. "You told me yourself: I'm a wanted man."

"But that's why you're here!" Leone exclaimed. "So we can help you!"

"Help _how_?" Hans challenged. "There's nothing you can do!"

The clatter of boots on the cobblestones alerted them to a multitude nearing the ship. Looking over the bow, a group of police and guards was visible on the pier. Ulrik stood behind them, the only one not in uniform. Lieutenant Ryberg, followed by a few officers and sentries, approached the gangplank.

"I am First Lieutenant Cornelius Ryberg of the Southern Isles Royal Guard," he announced. "Hans Westergaard, you are to return to the castle with me immediately."

"Why?" Mirella asked sharply.

"That's none of your concern, madam," the lieutenant replied.

"He's ill and under our care," Mirella retorted, "so it is very much ' _my concern_.'"

"Well, this supposed 'illness' isn't enough to keep him from assaulting a respected citizen," Ryberg sniped with a snide side-eye to the former royal.

"What a wonderfully vague accusation," the older woman fired back. "Surely this 'respected citizen' can appear in person to make the charge? Otherwise, this is nothing but hearsay."

Hans noticed Ulrik twitch toward the main passage between the harbor and the city. _Pierre must be on his way._

Lieutenant Ryberg seemed ruffled by Mirella's combative demeanor. "In any case, madam, regardless of the... _alleged_ incident, Hans is still to be taken into custody for leaving the castle grounds."

Mirella looked as though she was about to stomp down to the dock and wag her finger in the lieutenant's face. "Given how often we see him, I presume the fault lies in your soldiers, rather than the boy himself."

Vincenzo coughed. "Now, now, I'm sure this can all be sorted out. Why don't we accompany you—"

"With all due respect, sir," the lieutenant interrupted, "this is a national, royal matter. Foreign commoners need not bother themselves with it."

"Why you little—!" Leone hissed. Natalia's touch on his arm pacified him, but only slightly.

Vincenzo was clearly displeased, but kept his composure. "I assure you, Lieutenant Ryberg, we have no qualms regarding our involvement with Prince Hans. We wish to remain at his side and speak on his behalf."

Hans' mouth popped ajar, stunned at the declaration. _I don't understand them at all._ His nausea intensified. _If they keep arguing, they'll be detained too._ "I'll go," he mumbled.

There was a mixed chorus of "What?!" and "Hans, no!" from the family.

"It's fine," Hans continued. "As I said, there's nothing you can do."

The objections faded when the rumble of a horse and carriage drew everyone's attention.

"That's Pierre's," Natalia whispered. "Hans, did you...?"

She trailed off, watching the horse slow its pace. The ex-prince remained quiet as the coach halted behind the group on the pier.

The carriage door burst open. "What's going on here?!" a harsh voice emanated from inside. "Why is everybody just standing around?!" A middle-aged man emerged. "Has the brute been apprehended yet?!"

"He's on the ship, Father," Pierre pointed out, following behind (as best he could while nursing his injuries with a wet cloth).

"Why is he not in shackles?!" his father demanded.

"I'm sure my and Chief Rosdahl's men were in the process of investigating, Mr. Mercier." Captain Sorensen disembarked from the coach and closed the door behind him.

"There's nothing to investigate!" Aldric shouted. "Do you _see_ the state my boy's in?! Arrest him!"

The captain didn't flinch. "We have to do this properly." He inspected the ship and its occupants as he strode to the lieutenant, his two companions trailing after him. "Status report."

Ryberg saluted his superior. "I was just advising these _visitors_ that their assistance is wholly unnecessary and that we will be bringing _our_ _ **prisoner**_ to the dungeon _now_."

"You didn't say anything about a dungeon," Leone grumbled.

"We aren't trying to impede justice," Vincenzo explicated. "We simply wish to be able to give our side of the story at Hans' trial."

"One doesn't hold a _trial_ for a _criminal_ who attacked an _innocent_ man while trying to _escape_!" Mr. Mercier sneered.

"I wasn't trying to escape," Hans muttered.

Vincenzo gave Hans a comforting pat as he raised an eyebrow at the captain. "Is that true?"

Captain Sorensen put a hand to his chin. "Well, this would be handled by the elder princes, so it wouldn't be an _official_ trial..."

Hans chuckled dryly. _It wouldn't be a 'trial' at all._

"The Isles' royal family isn't exactly _welcoming_ to outsiders. You ought to bid each other farewell right now," Lieutenant Ryberg recommended.

"In your dreams!" Leone snapped.

"Pappa, Mamma, you won't let them take Hans, right?" Natalia pleaded.

 _Why are they so determined to fight for me?_

The spouses exchanged glances as though having an unspoken discourse. Vincenzo then addressed the crowd. "If you gentlemen could wait a moment." He disappeared into the larger cabin.

"You're actually _defending_ this worthless piece of trash, Natalia?" Pierre chided. "Even after what he did?"

"I'm not defending what he did—" Natalia linked her arms around Hans' left elbow, "—but he's _not_ worthless, and he's part of this family."

"God, you're dense," Pierre scoffed.

Leone leapt to the railing, bent over, and yanked Pierre into the air by his shirt. _"You want to say that again?_ _"_ he snarled.

"Barbarian! Release my son this instant!" Aldric bellowed as two privates attempted to pry Pierre free.

"Not until he apologizes!" Leone stipulated, lifting Pierre higher.

"Arrest them!" Mr. Mercier howled. "Arrest them all!"

 _ **"THAT'S ENOUGH!"**_

Hans recognized Vincenzo's voice, but couldn't believe the loud proclamation had come from the normally reserved man. He loomed in the doorway, glowering disapprovingly at the scene before him.

Leone dropped Pierre and retreated from the rail. The disgruntled young man straightened his shirt in a huff. A tense stillness settled over the area as everyone waited for Vincenzo to act.

The patriarch exited the main cabin and came to rest at his wife's side. He was holding two small leather pouches, one of which he handed to the matriarch. He faced the lawmen on the dock.

"I was hoping to avoid this," Vincenzo stated solemnly as he opened his pouch, "but you leave me no choice." He held up a medallion attached to a silk cloth pin. "Prince Hans Westergaard of the Southern Isles is under my protection. No action shall be taken concerning him without my consent. So say I, King Vincenzo Rovero of Sicilia."

The dead silence exploded in chaos.

 _"Lies!"_ Mr. Mercier screeched.

"Impossible!" Pierre spat.

"Treasonous impostors!" Lieutenant Ryberg cried. "You're all under arrest!"

Several of the armed men seized their sword hilts.

" _Stand down!_ " Captain Sorensen ordered. " _All of you,_ _ **stand down**_ _!_ "

"But, sir," Ryberg protested, "Sicilia's been a democracy for six years!"

"A _parliamentary_ democracy," Captain Sorensen corrected, "with a figurehead king who only intervenes when the representatives have reached an impasse."

"Sometimes I suspect they fake a deadlock just to get us to come home," Vincenzo reflected with a note of amusement.

"I thought the royal family willingly abdicated the throne," a sergeant wondered aloud.

"We did," Vincenzo replied, "but the parliament voted unanimously to reinstate us, with majority support from Sicilia's citizens. They had to accept our terms, though."

"So he doesn't really have any authority, then," one of the officers commented.

"If the Rovero name is not good enough for you," Mirella countered, "then we will use my lineage, the Navarra house of Southern Italia." She raised her own unique medal for all to see.

Captain Sorensen turned to the clusters of men. "If anyone doubts their word, I can personally verify the identity of this man from our previous encounters. He is the monarch of a land we have no quarrel with, and _will_ be treated as such."

Several of the men shifted uneasily.

"What happens now, sir?" Lieutenant Ryberg inquired.

"King Vincenzo has invoked his royal privilege, so this matter may only be resolved by King Lauris." Captain Sorensen faced _La Stella Luminosa_ again. "It would be best for us to go to the castle now. Since it's late, please gather what you need for an overnight stay. We will wait for you here."

"Understood." Vincenzo gestured to his children to go first.

Hans' knees had buckled at Vincenzo's revelation, with only Natalia's and Leone's support keeping him standing. The siblings practically dragged Hans into the smaller cabin.

"Well, I suppose that could have been worse." Leone scratched his head and peered at Hans. "You still with us?" He snapped his fingers in front of the redhead's face.

Hans blinked and gave a slow nod.

"Good," Leone acknowledged.

Hans massaged his forehead. His mind had gone blank in shock, and now a million questions rushed in at once.

Natalia's voice cut through his thoughts. "We were going to tell you."

"It's my fault we didn't do it sooner," Leone admitted.

 _'I'm so ashamed of my past... I'm not ready to discuss it with anyone.'_

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Hans informed them.

Leone was unconvinced. "If you'd known I was a disgraced prince myself, you would have been more forthcoming with your own history."

"I can't say either way," Hans rebutted. There were too many factors to accurately assess whether the additional data would have resulted in an alternate outcome.

"Did you go after Pierre because he told me your secret?" Natalia asked, wiggling a pile of clothes into a sack.

"Actually, he found me so he could brag about his plans for you," Hans recounted.

"' _Plans_?!'" Leone repeated, incensed. "What sort of ' _plans_?!'"

"To use my dishonesty as a way to get closer to Natalia." The sentence left a vile taste in his mouth.

Natalia was hunched over an open chest, trying to cram something into a different sack. "What a blockhead. I can't believe he was still plotting even after I directly declined his proposal."

 _"He_ _ **proposed**_ _?!"_ Hans and Leone shrieked in unison.

Natalia winced and giggled sheepishly. "Uh, well, it was more of a business proposal than a marriage proposal... though it _was_ a marriage proposal..."

"What does _that_ mean?!" Leone groaned, flailing his arms.

 _Wait, don't tell me..._

She melted under the duo's intense stares. "Pierre may have sort of suggested that I marry him so I could send the family money and not cause anyone to worry about my health anymore."

 _... Of course he did. Idiot._

Leone's upper lip curled in disgust. "Ugh, that guy's slimier than an eel. I can see why you punched him, Hans."

Hans cringed. "Actually... it was my suggestion," he admitted weakly.

One could have heard a pin drop.

"You helped him?! Since when?! How?! Why?!" Leone interrogated.

"We made a deal," Hans elucidated, "that I would aid him in his scheme to marry Natalia so he could keep his inheritance. In exchange, he would stay silent regarding my identity and freedom, as well as hire me as a stable hand once he had his own place."

"I knew it!" Natalia exclaimed.

Hans was taken aback. "You did?"

"Well, I suspected something was amiss," Natalia elaborated, "but it all makes sense if you were working together! I mean, how did he know to get me art supplies when I never told him I draw? Then there's how you were so supportive of me seeing him. It was weird. And the timing of everything was dubious. Like, how _convenient_ that Ulrik just _happened_ to tell him about you right before I rejected him. 'He stopped over not an hour ago.'" She stamped her foot. "Balderdash!"

Maybe it was her vivacious gesticulations, or possibly her choice of words. It may have been that her fuming expression was as ferocious as a kitten, or perhaps the surreal stress of his plight was finally affecting his brain. Whatever the reason, he couldn't suppress his spontaneous laughter.

"What's so funny?" Leone questioned.

Unable to reply, Hans merely pointed at Natalia.

Natalia pouted. "I wasn't trying to be funny."

Her pucker only made it worse. He broke into another fit stronger than the first.

Natalia struggled to keep a straight face as she shoved a bag into Hans' arms. "If you have time to laugh, you have time to pack."

"Wait, what?" he wheezed. "Why do _I_ have to pack?"

"Because, judging by his lack of motion, Leone is incapable of doing so," Natalia enlightened Hans with a smirk.

"Hey!" Leone complained.

"And he'd probably forget under garments," Natalia added.

Leone paused with his mouth half-open. "... You win this round, _sister_."

* * *

The ruckus had brought out the people aboard the anchored ships and those whose homes bordered the wharf. Hans imagined he and his cohorts would be the topic _de jour_ for the local gossips tomorrow morning.

The police had taken the Merciers, Ulrik, and the second witness to the nearest station for an official statement. The remaining guards surrounded the group of five as they began their trek to the castle. Mirella and Vincenzo were in front, Hans in the middle, and Leone and Natalia at the rear. Each family member carried a sack containing clothing. Leone had a second bag that appeared to be filled with books. Hans had offered to carry the heavier load before they departed, but Leone refused on account of Hans recovering from his illness.

All were silent as they traversed the city streets, until Captain Sorensen struck up a casual conversation with Vincenzo. Some of the privates did the same amongst themselves, chatting about their families or schedules.

Leone trotted forward and leaned close Hans. "I'm curious: did you beat up Pierre for breaking your agreement?"

Hans recalled the man's lewd implications. "I'd guess it was more due to his crassness when speaking of... _certain_ things."

Leone's eyes darted to Natalia, then back to Hans. " _Oh_ ," he growled.

"Don't let Natalia even think about marrying him," Hans murmured. "Infidelity is just one of his many shortcomings."

"I doubt we need to worry," Leone encouraged him. "After what he said earlier, and lying to her before that, he'd have to be a completely different person for Natalia to ever reconsider accepting a proposal from him."

"You're right," Hans conceded.

"So, what about you?" Leone whispered inquisitively.

Hans squinted in confusion. "What _about_ me?"

"You'd be faithful to her, wouldn't you?"

A shiver shot up his spine. "Why would you ask such a thing? We're not in any sort of relationship that would even _lead_ to marriage. And even if we were, I've been equally awful, if not more so."

Leone stroked his chin. "You admit you were wrong, then."

Hans grimaced. "Some of my decisions produced less-than-desirable consequences, so, in that sense, yes."

"Hm." Leone shifted both bags to one hand and wrapped his free arm around Hans' shoulders. "It's a start."

* * *

The group came to a stop in front of the entrance to King Lauris' study.

Captain Sorensen knocked. "Your Majesty? We have a situation that requires your attention."

The man's scoff was audible despite the thick wood. "Unless we're on the brink of war, it can wait until morning."

"I would never threaten war over something personal, Lauris," Vincenzo called, "but it _is_ important."

The right-hand door flew open, a perplexed face appearing from within. King Lauris studied his visitor. "Oh, Vincenzo. I didn't recognize you; it's been so long since we last met."

"Too long," Vincenzo responded.

"Hm." King Lauris neglected to return the sentiment as he surveyed the rest of the group. "I see you brought your family this time—" He stopped short as his eyes fell on Hans. "Why is _he_ here?"

"He's the reason _why_ we're here," Mirella answered.

"Then this can _absolutely_ wait until morning," King Lauris declared with a glare at his youngest son. "Captain Sorensen, take that prisoner to the dungeon where he belongs. Have the maids prepare rooms for King Vincenzo and his family." He returned his focus to Vincenzo. "We'll discuss this tomorrow."

Vincenzo bowed. "As you wish."

The door slammed shut.

One of the corporals accompanying Hans prodded him to move. He hadn't gone far when he heard Captain Sorensen.

"Your Highness, the guest quarters are this way."

Hans looked over his shoulder to see that Leone had begun following him.

"You go," Leone asserted, more to his family than the captain. "I'll stay with Hans."

Hans couldn't believe his ears. _What? Why?_

Natalia cast a hopeful glance at her parents. They both nodded.

"We _all_ will," Mirella affirmed.

The three joined Leone, and the quartet tailed the ex-prince as he was escorted through the halls.

 _This is ridiculous. Who voluntarily rejects a castle chamber in favor of a prison cell? These people must be insane._ He peeked at the four behind him. _They seem so confident, though._ However, given their strange life circumstances, 'insane' might indeed be a correct evaluation.

Musty, stale air greeted his nose. He trudged into his cell and sat on his bed. The quartermaster secured the door while Captain Sorensen spoke with the Roveros.

"You'll each have to sleep in your own cell. They can't accommodate more than one person. We won't lock you in — you're guests, not prisoners. I'll have the maids bring down extra blankets and pillows. If you need anything else, there will be two guards at both entrances all night."

"Thank you." Mirella curtsied to the captain.

Vincenzo shook the man's hand with both of his. "Your assistance is appreciated more than we can say."

"I only wish I could be of more help," Captain Sorensen lamented.

"You've done plenty," Vincenzo consoled him. "I believe it was the Lord's will that you were on duty tonight."

"It was due to our meeting last week," the captain ruminated, "so perhaps it was divine intervention after all."

Captain Sorensen bid everyone good night as the guards took their positions. The five were left alone.

"Why'd you bring all these books, Natalia?" Leone lifted the weighty sack.

"They're for Hans."

The named man tilted his head just in time to observe Leone attempt to stuff the ridged mound through one of the gaps in the gridiron.

"For goodness' sake, Leone, do it one at a time!" Mirella scolded.

Hans snickered at Leone's dejected countenance. The curly-haired youth stuck out his tongue in defiance as he passed two novels through at once.

"You can put them on the table," Hans instructed, since the furnishing resided below the man's arm.

"I know it's not much—" Natalia set her bag down in the cell across the hall, "—but I wanted to make sure you had something to read."

Hans eyed the stack of books. "That's quite a few 'somethings.'"

Natalia giggled. "I didn't have time to be selective, so I grabbed them all." She grew somber. "In case you can't visit us again."

Hans reclined against the wall behind him. "You're always thinking ahead."

The young woman approached the locked cell. "I'm glad we're able to be here with you."

"You should be angry," Hans contradicted sullenly.

"I'm not," Natalia assured him, clinging to the iron grate. "I'm hurt that you deceived us, but I still care about you."

He folded his arms over his chest. "Why?"

Natalia traced one of the bars with her fingertip. "Because real love isn't based on what you do, or don't do. Your existence is enough for us to want the best for you."

Her sincere smile was barely visible in the lantern light.

A prickling sensation spread from his ears to the back of his neck. He laid down, staring at the wall as he ignored her disappointed whimper.

* * *

"Psst! Hans! Are you awake?"

Hans gave a groggy groan. "I am _now_." He sat up. "What do you want, Leone?"

"I couldn't sleep." He plopped down in front of the cell. "I... I feel you deserve to know the whole story."

"One might argue that I deserve nothing," Hans noted, "but if you wish to tell me, I'll listen."

Leone exhaled. "I should have explained everything from the beginning. I know no one else brought it up because they didn't want to speak badly of me. They were waiting for me to broach the subject... which I didn't, even though I had plenty of opportunities."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I was so consumed with preserving my image that I failed to be honest. I didn't want you to look at me and see who I was instead of who I am." Leone rested his head on the metal and sighed. "I know I've been forgiven, but my sin still haunts me. It cost us our fortune, our reputation... and it almost cost Natalia her life."


End file.
